


the icarian fall

by iwaoist



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Pining, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Violence, but seriously fuck the cops, oikawa tooru says acab, referenced matsuhana, someone get iwaizumi some caffeine, superhero x supervillain, university!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29840157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaoist/pseuds/iwaoist
Summary: Balancing life as a grad student and a superhero is stressful enough for Iwaizumi, never mind adding the crush he's had on one of his closest friends for years into the mix.But does Oikawa like him back? Or does he like 'the Ace'? How would he react if he found out they were one and the same?Between the mess of his love life, and a new foe that's always one step ahead, one thing is for certain —Iwaizumi Hajime needs a break.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 133
Kudos: 157
Collections: Haikyuu Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the fic that I've been working on for months. I have to say a big thank you to a few people, but I'll keep it very short and sweet.
> 
> Amber, this fic wouldn't exist without you. I'm grateful for you everyday, and I'm very glad that we became friends because of the threadfic that formed the bare bones of this fic.
> 
> Sam, thank you so much for being my first beta. There are definitely parts of this fic that wouldn't exist without you.
> 
> Sara, thank you so much for stepping up in a pinch. Your input has been invaluable to me and I know for a fact that this fic is better as a result of your help.
> 
> And lastly!!!!! My [my dearest HQBB artist and all around fave person](https://twitter.com/morichrome)— I'm really glad that we're friends as a result of the HQBB. Thank you so much for wanting to create art based on this fic, as well as being generally someone I care about a lot and a great friend. 
> 
> As always, you can find my twitter here, or come talk to me on discord (effie#4262). 
> 
> Drink water and I hope that everyone who reads this has a great day!

_“Hey, Ace- are you seeing this? One of the guys have broken off and taken the briefcase with him, the others are staying behind- ah, you’re coming up onto them now, be careful,”_ came the disembodied voice of the police contact in the Ace’s ear, thanks to the AI built into his black mask.

He tried hard not to roll his eyes as he allowed his body to spar with his opponents through muscle memory alone, rolling with each punch, dispatching each of his foes with a rehearsed ease that came as naturally as breathing.

The police always were a little late at giving him a heads up for sticky situations.

The brawny mercenaries easily outnumbered him six-to-one, but being a super-soldier with supernatural endurance abilities and stamina had its perks.

Curled fists collided with clenched jaws, the sole of the Ace’s boot meeting bulletproof vest-clad chests as he used his superhuman strength to easily overpower the assailants with swift kicks and punches. He took no pleasure in the sickening crushing of their bones or their animalistic grunts of pain, but he reminded himself he did this for the greater good. He was the good guy here.

Whatever this group had come to the lab to steal… it was going to be a dangerous situation if they managed to get away with it, even though he had no idea what they were in the process of stealing. The police hadn’t deemed him as important enough to know, and although he was a little frustrated, he ignored it - surely there was a reason behind it. There would be more harm to the city if these steroid-pumped lackeys were allowed to succeed in their task, that was for certain.

The metallic taste of his own blood coated his tongue when a particularly swift punch to his mouth split the soft tissue of his bottom lip, and he let out a low grunt of pain as he spat a thick gob of saliva and ichor into his attacker’s face in a brief moment of pent-up rage. He hated it when he had to explain injuries on his face to his roommate later on; it was a hassle he’d prefer to deal without, and there were only so many excuses in the world for having black eyes and busted lips on a biweekly basis.

The Ace pushed away his discomfort with harming others to focus on his own objective. He centred his attention on the task at hand, before activating his comms system to respond to the officer on the other end. “Yeah, Kindaichi - could you find out which direction the one who made a break for it went in? He was carrying something and I - _agh -_ I don’t want to risk anything-”

The Ace’s voice strained as he grappled with yet another faceless mercenary, but he knew that he still had control over the situation. His arm swung upwards, a shout of pain causing his communication system to crackle in his ear as he smashed the cartilage of his opponent’s nose with a grimace.

_“Sure thing, Ace!”_ came the ever eager-to-please response, voice fuzzy with poor connection as the comms signal strained with the damage to his suit. Inside his carefully-designed mask, the interface showed the Ace a map with a blinking red light - he thanked whatever higher power above there was that he was able to slip a tracking device into the case before the mysterious figure had slipped away from the fighting scuffle.

With the team of mercenaries disposed of, ready for police officers to arrest and process, the Ace made quick work of following the blinking light; up and up he climbed the stairs, breathing laboured, yet controlled, as he ran.

_“Ace, heads up. Turns out that, uh, this guy stole a batch of ‘minor biochemical weapons’. Don’t let him leave with it, but don’t get yourself killed- that’s what the Commanding Officers are saying.”_

Biochemical weapons? At a commercial laboratory? Something didn’t sound right to the Ace, but he followed orders as always. It wasn’t his to reason why, only his to do and die - or however the fuck that quote went.

“Got it. Approaching the rooftop now. Give me a heads up if any of those guys wake up and make it up here.”

He got confirmation from Kindaichi, but thankfully the line remained silent from then onwards. The Ace wasn’t sure exactly where his opponent was waiting for him, and he’d hate for the crackly communication line to give away his position before he managed to get a grasp on the situation.

He approached the service door to the rooftop, knowing that he and his target were several stories up and looking out over the city skyline. There was almost certainly nowhere to run, so this was it.

Bracing himself and steeling his nerves, he kicked the door down with a low grunt of exertion, grateful for the flexibility of his all-black stealth that allowed him to conserve his strength.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to see, but the figure in black standing calmly, waiting for him a few meters away, sure wasn’t it.

It struck him as odd, but he quickly adjusted to the situation. The Ace’s stance changed and his fists, clad in fingerless gloves with reinforced brass knuckles, curled up into fists in front of him.

The stranger made no such move.

The man’s apparel wasn’t all that different from the Ace’s own; the main difference was their headgear. Where the Ace sported a mask that covered his eyes but left the majority of his face exposed, his opponent’s appearance was obscured in a different way. The headpiece adorning the crown of his head was clearly of significance, and the second the Ace looked at his adversary’s face (or tried to, at least), it became clear.

His opponent, like him, was in possession of superhuman abilities. The Ace stared straight at his opponent, his focus sharp - so how did he have no idea what he looked like? The man’s face was unknown, even as the Ace stared. It must be something to do with the mind.

He’d never encountered someone like this himself, but he’d heard stories about them. These types of gifted individuals were formidable opponents and often were fiercely defiant to the end (if it came to that).

The crown-shaped headpiece atop the stranger’s head was likely some kind of device that would boost his abilities and allow him to hone in on specific targets; the engineer in the Ace’s heart was dying to get his hands on it.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” came the stranger’s voice, confident and calm. His nonchalance pissed the Ace off a little. It was a tense situation, life or death. Where did this guy get off staying unaffected, as if nothing could shake him?

“You won’t. Please give me back the briefcase and I won’t hurt _you_.” The Ace spoke evenly, his approach crafted by the police-funded hostage negotiation online course - robotic and formulaic, just like everything else they taught him to do.

“Nah. Don’t think I want to do that. Cute that you tried, though. A good effort.”

Was this asshole _laughing_?

It pissed him off, and he didn’t feel like he was as collected as he had been just a few moments before.

He took a step further, encroaching on the empty space between them, and the stranger let him. There was something off about the whole situation; the Ace was hardly ever riled up by his opponents. If anything he was usually levelheaded and rational about every situation he faced, but somehow this bastard’s smile and carefree actions grated on his nerves. There was something about his opponent that got under his skin, and he wasn’t sure if he would make the right decisions in their inevitable impending scuffle. He couldn’t focus, and he wasn’t sure if the other’s mind-manipulating abilities were the cause.

The Ace grumbled to himself, taking yet another step closer. He was torn between simply attacking, wrangling the samples from the stranger and then dealing with him, or waiting, figuring him out a little more before he did anything too rash.

He wasn’t afforded the option, however.

The Ace was caught off guard when a gloved hand swung the reinforced carry-case containing the samples around, momentum helping carry it through the air that occupied the space where the Ace’s head had been moments earlier.

‘ _Fuck_.’ was his only thought as he barely escaped the first blow.

However, the stranger seemed to eerily know exactly how the Ace would react; a long leg, clad in black similar to that of his own suit, hooked around the Ace’s ankle and yanked it forward. He slid backwards and struggled to regain balance, on the defensive as he protected himself from blow after blow from the stranger’s gloved fist, from the steel of the carry case or kicks of those long legs.

For some reason, the stranger held back from actually hurting his face. Instead, he focused on pounding at the Ace’s abdomen but managed to avoid hurting any major organs with the precision of a surgeon.

_‘Who knew there were considerate villains, eh?’_ The Ace thought, the voice in his head dripping with sarcasm.

The stranger kept him out of his comfort zone, backed him up against the cold, reinforced steel of the emergency access door that had long since clicked shut behind them, trapping them in the cold of the night on the rooftop together.

The Ace panted hard, but with his enhanced abilities he could fight all night if need be - his stamina and resilience were something to be in awe of, even if they were artificially enhanced. Stubbornness might have something to do with it, too.

His opponent pressed him against the cold steel of the access door, and Iwaizumi was unsurprised to find himself caged in place. The stranger was a little taller than him and a little less muscular, but to his annoyance, he was no weaker or less adept at fighting, or whatever _this_ was. Those lean muscles of the stranger’s arms were deceptive, hiding a strength behind them that nearly matched the Ace’s own. Gloved black hands that had discarded the stolen property to one side reached for him, pinning the Ace’s hands above his head - he was frozen, taken aback by the absurdity of the situation as he nearly choked on his own breath in surprise.

Surely, the Ace should move and easily regain composure.

_‘Look, he’s wide open, just kick him or something right now - why am I allowing him so close to me? What is he doing?’_ Internal rambling and a heart rate that had skyrocketed were two symptoms of whatever it was that the stranger was doing to him.

The Ace froze, unable to move, like he was being pinned in place by the cold chill that spread down his spine. His gaze, however, darted around, flitting between the flashes of the stranger’s oddly distracting lips (that he could see as the mirage that disguised his opponent’s face flickered slightly), and anything else within his range of sight.

However, his eyes always seemed to return to that cocky smile, his traitorous mind unable to focus on anything but the dizzying magnetism he felt, much to his horror, towards his opponent.

It seemed he wasn’t alone in his dilemma. After a moment of hesitation, soft, chapstick-coated lips slotted over his own with a deep groan of frustration.

_Who the_ **fuck __**_wears strawberry flavoured chapstick on a stealth mission to steal minor biochemical weapons?_

If this was some type of distraction technique, it was a damn good one; the Ace was rendered utterly useless when the other man's lips met his own. There was a low groan of frustration from his opponent as the pair of them gave in to the momentary madness. 

It seemed like the stranger was annoyed at himself for kissing the Ace, for giving in to the strange attraction, and the Ace could empathise with that sentiment wholeheartedly - it was ridiculous and stupid and _dangerous,_ but the way the other man’s mouth worked against his was addictive.

The Ace was certain he had lost his damn mind, but he couldn’t help but lean into the kiss and respond, eager and pliant under the touch of his supposed foe, against the cold steel of the door on the dirty and unkempt rooftop.

This was going to be the death of him, he was sure.

In a flurry of activity, the assailant unhanded the Ace. He retrieved the heavy-duty briefcase containing the stolen goods, shot the Ace a smile that haunted him with a knowing sadness that he didn’t quite understand, and dove off of the rooftop into the night, disappearing without a trace.

The Ace’s lips still felt kiss-swollen from their moment of mutual madness. He swore to himself, cursing whatever higher power was out there for his serious lapse in judgement. His head was reeling, and he couldn’t be sure if it was from the blow to the head or from the insane kiss he’d just experienced. He cursed himself over and over, even kicking the steel door behind him out of frustration as he realised his lack of control had allowed the perpetrator to escape, target in hand.

The kick to the door hurt, but he barely noticed it amongst the flurry of frustration built up in his chest. He sighed hard, hissing as he recognised the familiar pain of broken ribs. Another trip to his favourite medical student was clearly in order.

**\---**

The journey across town was unpleasant, but not difficult. He’d signed off from contact with Kindaichi, citing his injuries as the reason for the stranger’s escape and the mission failure. Kindaichi made his usual offer for Iwaizumi to be patched up by police medics if he decided to come in, but like always, the Ace refused.

He had a routine by now.

The Ace knocked with a gloved hand on the window of the bedroom in a small downtown apartment, sitting on the fire escape as he waited for the occupant to surface.

He wasn’t waiting long - Oikawa Tooru slid the window open, offering a hand to help him inside without causing too much of a racket and disturbing his probably-sleeping roommate.

“God, what on earth did you get yourself into this time, hm?” Oikawa teased, already peeling back the layers of the Ace’s gear to reveal a multitude of injuries. “What would you do without me to patch you up?”

The teasing was fond, and the Ace allowed his lips to quirk up into a tiny smile. “I don’t know, go to a hospital, like a regular person?”

“Yet you always come to me.”

“Less explaining,” the Ace shrugged, immediately regretting it when a shockwave of pain emanated from his cracked ribs. He continued speaking anyway, eyes rooted on Oikawa’s hands. “There’s only so many hospitals in this city, and there’s only so many times I can say I fell in the shower before someone gets suspicious.”

“Just admit it. I’m your favourite junior doctor. What an honour to be the Ace’s personal physician.” There was a grin, a flash of pearly whites that made the Ace’s chest tight.

“Whatever, Oikawa.”

_Yeah, you are my favourite._

The Ace blamed his budding feelings and tenuous flirting with Oikawa for the night’s bizarre events.

That strange, anonymous man had shown him affection - if making out against a fire escape door could be called that - and his romantically-stunted brain had relished in it before he’d even thought twice. That was it. He just wanted attention where he could get it (even at the most absurd of times, apparently). That was why he had acted like he was absolutely insane.

Right?

Shaking the ramblings from his head, he tried to focus on Oikawa’s pleasant rambling, though he absently wondered how Oikawa would react if he knew his secret.

How would Oikawa Tooru react to finding out who the Ace really was, and worse still, that they were already friends?

Would Oikawa react positively? Would Oikawa feel betrayed that the Ace - no, _Iwaizumi Hajime_ \- was hiding things from him? Would he still flirt and tease him, as he did with the Ace? Or would he be the nervous nerd he was when he and Iwaizumi first met in the university library?

As if he could sense his inner turmoil, Oikawa gave the Ace a comforting pat on the shoulder, his slender hand squeezing the broad expanse of his upper body, and offered a smile that eased his worries (for now, at least). With a deep sigh, the Ace returned the same smile and placed his somewhat bloodied hand on top of Oikawa’s.

“Thank you, Oikawa. You’re a lifesaver, even if you are an irritating little twerp.” The Ace grinned as he said the last part, his hand patting Oikawa’s where it rested on his shoulder still.

“Hey, what the _fuck -_ ”

They laughed together until they were disturbed by the sound of Oikawa’s roommate throwing something at the wall that separated Oikawa’s bedroom from his own.

With a whispered apology, Iwaizumi scratched the back of his head sheepishly as he rose to his feet. “I almost feel bad for your roommate, you know. He has to live with you. I couldn’t do that.”

“Matsukawa Issei is in no need of your pity. He’s an asshole and usually disrupts my precious sleep by fucking his boyfriend at ungodly hours when neither of them seem to have even a _tenuous_ grasp on the concept of volume control.” Oikawa rolled his eyes, and the Ace thought it was pathetic that he found a grown man pouting adorable.

“I’m sure you’re just as bad. A cute guy like you - I bet you give them just as many reasons to be awake at night.”

“Who knew the city’s mysterious protector was such a flirt?” Oikawa laughed, his head tipping back in glee as he teased once more, his groomed brows waggling playfully before shooting the Ace a comically exaggerated wink. “And no, not really - there’s someone I’ve got my eye on, I guess. No clue if he likes me, though. He’s not good at talking.”

Oikawa’s eyes met the Ace’s gaze - or at least, where Oikawa assumed it was behind the screen in his mask. His expression had changed a little, and the Ace couldn’t quite place why (and besides, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to). Oikawa seemed a little sad, maybe? Perhaps a little part of him was longing for someone. The Ace dared to dream for a second that it could be him.

“‘Feel bad for the poor guy, I’m sure you must be _extra_ annoying to him because you like him. I wonder how he copes with it.” For once, he was glad that Oikawa could only see the practised smirk on his lips and not the honest, disappointed gaze that was hidden behind his mask.

“I’ll have you know I’m a delight, you dick.” Oikawa returned to his comfortable grin, even offering up a wink to his companion. “I’ve charmed you enough to keep coming back, haven’t I?”

“Something like that.” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, even tilting his head and shaking it as if he couldn’t believe Oikawa’s audacity. He wanted to grumble, knowing that despite his cockiness, Oikawa was right.

He was fairly certain Oikawa knew it too, from the way his touch lingered a little or his flirty comments that were constantly slipped into conversation.

For all of the Ace’s superhuman abilities, he still wished he had some sort of power to read emotions so he could at least work out what it was that Oikawa wanted from him, if anything.

Even if Oikawa liked him, would he like the Ace and Iwaizumi Hajime equally? What if it was just attraction, based solely on the fact that the Ace was somewhat of a celebrity and Oikawa found it exciting that he had a connection to him? Or what if Oikawa liked the _other_ him? What if Oikawa didn’t want the stress that came with a boyfriend who risked his life on a near-daily basis for no reason other than to protect the city he grew up in?

His thoughts raced around his head at a pace that would rival the Flash, making him dizzy; but Oikawa was there, steadying him before he spiralled further. It was nice to know that even though he was responsible for keeping the city stable and safe, there was someone who would do the same for him in some way. Iwaizumi pushed away the tender feeling buried deep inside his armoured chest.

There was something else; a guilty tendril snaked its way around the Ace’s heart as he looked at Oikawa’s cheeky grin, squeezing tightly. He’d kissed someone else less than an hour before. Even though he had no idea who they were or what they wanted from him, he still felt somewhat like he’d betrayed whatever he and Oikawa had between them. He was both the Ace and Iwaizumi Hajime, so how could he pretend like he hadn’t wanted that kiss on the rooftop just as much as he wanted to crawl into Oikawa’s bed and sleep for the rest of the night?

He was sure of one thing: he needed to sort his head out before he ever thought about revealing his secret again.

“Hey, you ought to head off home. I’m sure you have a busy day fighting crime tomorrow, and for that, you’ll definitely need a good night’s sleep. Come on, doctor’s orders.” Oikawa began ushering him back towards the window, and Iwaizumi took one last extended look at him, drinking in his appearance and everything about _him_. The Ace was halfway out the window before he mumbled over his shoulder - loud enough so that Oikawa could hear him, but that he wouldn’t be overheard by Matsukawa through the thin walls of the apartment.

“Thank you, Oikawa. You - you’re the best. I couldn’t do this without you, you know? Sweet dreams, _idiot_.”

With that, the Ace dove out the window into the dark void of the night, leaving behind a somewhat flustered Oikawa, grinning like a fool. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just guys being dudes i guess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw! the posting schedule for this will be every three days, wherever possible. i'd love to know what you guys think of the fic so far! - effie x

The dimly lit dive bar on the outskirts of the university campus was crowded. It was one of the few Friday nights Iwaizumi had to hang out with his friends rather than staying up late in the engineering lab working on new drafts for his suit. There were plenty of undergraduates milling around, but this particular haunt tended to be a favourite of graduate students like himself, his roommate, his roommate’s boyfriend, and his roommate’s boyfriend’s roommate.

Iwaizumi didn’t mind hanging out with Hanamaki and his boyfriend, Matsukawa, but when they brought Oikawa along, it tended to complicate things. His feelings for Oikawa were very real while he was both in disguise and out of it, and he tended to fill with a certain anxiety at the mere mention of him. Iwaizumi knew the feelings were normal, but he wasn’t good at dealing with them.

He wasn’t able to flirt and tease like he could behind the comfortable anonymity of his mask, but he still yearned for the other man’s presence near him. It was bittersweet, being friends with Oikawa.

Nursing his cheap beer, courtesy of Hanamaki, Iwaizumi sighed as he cast his eyes around the room. He couldn’t help but feel uneasy, but he was unsure of the reason why. Usually, he only felt like this when he was out on a mission, and it irked him to be on edge on one of the few nights off he allowed himself. Remaining on his guard, he briefly turned his attention to the breaking news broadcast being shown on the bar’s television.

_“--and we’re joined now by Sakusa Kiyoomi, reporting live from the scene.”_

_“Thanks, Watanabe,”_ began the reporter on the screen that hung on one side of the bar.

_“Tonight, I’m standing at the foot of the iconic Irihata Laboratories building. Up until last night, this was the centre for processing samples in many police cases, but it has now come under an investigation of its own. According to our exclusive sources, the lab behind me has secretly been manufacturing biochemical weapons without government approval for private buyers over the last eighteen months. The plan was exposed last night by a planned armed robbery on the building. Despite a heavy face-off with the Ace, the assailant was able to escape with the stolen goods and is now at large. However, the stolen goods were turned over to police anonymously in order to expose the corrupt dealings of the laboratory. The police announced in a press conference mere minutes ago there will be a cash reward for any information that leads directly to the arrest of those responsible.”_

Iwaizumi trailed off, forcing himself to avert his gaze away from the press bulletin with a growing discomfort in the pit of his stomach.

He supposed it was good that the strange man had handed over the weapons, but the whole situation the previous night had been a total bust for him and could have gone even more seriously wrong. He dreaded to think about what might have happened, and he instead focused on draining the last dregs of beer from his bottle with an upwards scrunch of his nose at the bitter taste.

“Anyone for another drink?” He asked the others, interrupting whatever idle, flirtatious banter Matsukawa and Hanamaki had been batting back and forth.

Oikawa’s gaze was firmly trained on the television screen, and he was nearly shaking the table with how much his knee was bouncing under the table of the booth. He seemed anxious, but the sound of Iwaizumi’s voice clearly pulled him from wherever he had drifted to inside his own head.

“I’ll come with you, Iwa-chan.” The honey-sweet voice at Iwaizumi’s side offered a friendly smile to match, carefully moving to his feet as Oikawa’s fingers fiddled lightly with the cuffs of his own jacket. Iwaizumi pretended the nickname didn’t make his chest warm and tight in the softest way. “Don’t want to be left alone to suffer with the lovebirds, you see.”

Iwaizumi nodded, his smile small but genuine as he moved from the booth the four of them had snagged. He couldn’t help but wonder what was troubling his companion; a fleeting thought of ‘ _what if he’s worried about the Ace?_ ’ flashed through his mind, but Iwaizumi knew the likelihood of that being true was slim to none.

At least, not in the way he wanted it to be.

As Oikawa stood at his side, their shoulders lightly bumping together, Iwaizumi became more acutely aware of their height difference and tried (with great difficulty) not to stare at the other’s lips, even in the dim lighting of the bar. There wasn’t a huge difference between their builds, but it was just enough for Iwaizumi to have to tilt his chin up if he wanted to kiss him - not that he’d ever dare. “Come on, let’s go.”

Oikawa followed after him through the busy throng of moving people, and it seemed like Iwaizumi’s heart couldn’t catch a break as he felt Oikawa’s palm rest on the small of his back. Iwaizumi’s breath very nearly hitched, exposing how touch-starved he really was, but he caught hold of himself by squeezing one fist closed at his side and biting the inside of his cheek.

He felt insane, absolutely maddened and downright depraved, having to forcefully will his pulse to slow its relentless pounding, just in case Oikawa could feel it even through the fabric of his clothes. His ears were surely crimson red, and he prayed to whatever was out there that Oikawa wouldn’t pick up on it and tease him like he had a habit of doing. Or worse, that Matsukawa or Hanamaki wouldn’t notice from back in their seats and call him out for his pathetic crush.

Reaching the bar, Iwaizumi stood as close to the cash register as he could manage, soon finding that Oikawa was worming his way into the tiniest gap at his side. Iwaizumi felt him angling his body so that his chest was pressed against Iwaizumi’s side (and no one could get too close to Iwaizumi). He hated how he could smell the rich scent of Oikawa’s cologne, a mixture of something sophisticated yet masculine, and something very specifically Oikawa. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his head dizzy in the most brilliant way.

Iwaizumi assumed Oikawa’s proximity was because he was just being polite - Oikawa surely didn’t want a friend to feel uncomfortable with a horde of strangers around him, perhaps, so he decided to form a physical barrier to keep him safe.

That must be it.

He’d do it for anyone.

It seemed absurd that _Oikawa_ wanted to protect _him_ when _he_ was the genetically enhanced supersoldier out of the two of them. Yet Iwaizumi found it oddly… charming?... that Oikawa was subconsciously protecting Iwaizumi, even when it was highly unlikely that Iwaizumi would ever need the help.

_‘Maybe being taken care of wouldn’t be so bad, sometimes,_ ’ he thought, before shoving that out of his mind as quickly as it came. It wasn’t the time for such foolish daydreams.

Iwaizumi revelled in Oikawa’s subconscious affection, if it could even be called that, before his chest tightened for the nth time that evening and his smile faltered. He felt uncontrollable guilt - ever since that kiss on the roof the night before, he’d been plagued by thoughts of a sad smile and the softest pair of lips he’d ever kissed in his life. Even though he and Oikawa weren’t dating - hell, he wasn’t even sure if Oikawa liked him back - he felt that some part of him was betraying Oikawa.

He’d had this crush on Oikawa for years, since they were both undergraduates and Oikawa spilt a cup of hot coffee down his front at the university library, and he’d grown used to longing for the other man; had he been pining for so long at this point that he felt like he couldn’t kiss anyone else?

It made his head spin, conflicted and confused. He hated being trapped by his feelings, but it wasn’t an easy situation to navigate - especially for someone who’s default emotion was either neutrality or grumpiness.

It only took one simple gesture from Oikawa to send a shiver down Iwaizumi’s spine.

“So,” Oikawa began. His voice was low, as Oikawa had to lean in close to Iwaizumi to be heard over the raucous din of the bar. Iwaizumi focused hard on not shivering when he felt lips brush the shell of his ear. “Iwa-chan, what do you think about all this rise in crime stuff? It’s a bit scary, right?”

_Oh, if you only knew, Oikawa._

Iwaizumi nodded, shrugging a little. “I try not to pay too much attention to it all. It’s so depressing, you know? Besides, I’m always busy.”

“With your research project?”

He _remembered_? He remembered.

“Oh, um - yeah. My research project. It’s boring though. It’s not like I’m gonna be a doctor or anything cool like that.”

Oikawa grinned, bumping their elbows together. “Oh yeah, there’s nothing more cool than being covered in other people’s bodily fluids and germs all day, for sure.”

“Shut up, you know what I meant. You’re helping people, Oikawa.”

“Mn, I guess. I wish I could do more, though.”

“Well, short of putting on some spandex and being the Ace’s sidekick, I don’t think you could do much else.”

“Haha, _very_ funny. And hey, if I’m getting into spandex I’m not gonna be anyone’s sidekick, Iwa-chan. You know me better than that, surely?”

“Oh, yeah? I suppose you aren’t one to let someone else steal the show.”

“Yeah. Partner in crime, that’s more like it. I’ll take over the world with a flash of this smile.”

“I hate you.” Iwaizumi hid the smile and the laugh that threatened to radiate out of him, like an incandescent burst of joy.

“Next time I’ll leave you alone with Mattsun and Makki then, hm?” Oikawa teased, finding another reason to poke and play with Iwaizumi. The physical contact was normal for them, somewhat, but it didn’t mean it made Iwaizumi any less affected by it.

“No need for such threats, idiot. That’s a very dangerous game to play.” Iwaizumi’s thick eyebrow arched upwards, clicking his tongue in faux reprimand with a tiny disbelieving shake of his head.

“Yeah, well, we all need a little excitement, right?” Oikawa grinned, daring to shoot his friend a wink. “Besides, if I get into trouble - who knows, the Ace might come and save me.”

Iwaizumi hoped that Oikawa wouldn’t notice the way he tensed at each mention of the Ace. There wasn’t a good explanation for it and Oikawa always distracted Iwaizumi too much for him to come up with any kind of convincing lie. “Ha, very funny - it’s your round, by the way. Cough up and buy me a beer.”

Besides, wasn’t it a little weird that Oikawa was bringing the Ace up? Although Oikawa didn’t know Iwaizumi’s connection to the masked hero, Oikawa still knew more about the Ace than he was letting on. Oikawa was still patching the Ace up, night after night, without breathing a word to anyone.

Was Oikawa trying to test how Iwaizumi felt about the Ace?

The conflicting identities made his head hurt, and for the first time in a while, the secrecy and the anonymity was beginning to grate on his last nerve. He grasped nearly-empty the bottle of cheap beer a little tighter, but was careful not to accidentally smash it - that would be a nightmare to explain, and besides, Iwaizumi didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Oikawa.

That was a certain type of stress he couldn’t deal with today.

“I _will_ buy this round, yes, but only because Mattsun is paying for my drinks because he and Makki kept me awake all night last night. Those idiots are way too loud.”

“God, tell me about it. I’ve taken to leaving the apartment and going for a run, or something.” Iwaizumi was grateful for the change in subject and laughed as he shook his head. He turned as much as he could, caged against the bar by Oikawa’s close proximity, and checked on the lovebirds who remained at their booth. They were either making out or wrestling, and Iwaizumi wasn’t sure which was more revolting.

“I’m going to have to think of something.” Oikawa agreed, similarly looking over at their respective roommates with an exasperated sigh. Iwaizumi could feel Oikawa’s deep breath against his skin, the hairs on the back of his arms standing on end. “I need my beauty sleep.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, and apparently, he wasn’t subtle enough - Oikawa noticed and immediately began to playfully pout, complaining. Iwaizumi would never admit it, but it was possibly both the cutest and stupidest thing he’d ever seen. He quashed his fond smile, instead choosing to elbow Oikawa in the ribs - barely a tap, of course, but Oikawa still complained further.

“Quit whining, you big baby. I barely touched you.”

“I know, shame.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Oikawa moved on as if he’d said nothing out of the ordinary, luckily catching the bartender’s attention and ordering for them as Iwaizumi’s jaw clenched.

Iwaizumi needed a moment to recompose himself, and he was glad that Oikawa’s attention wasn’t on him. His ears burned (as they always did when he was flustered, which was near _all the time_ in Oikawa’s dizzying presence) and Iwaizumi put on his perfected ‘don’t look at me’ scowl.

Taking a deep breath, Iwaizumi pushed away his jumbled cacophony of racing thoughts. If he was honest, he wanted to take more than a minute to collect himself - maybe he had gotten a head injury from the fight the day before that he didn’t remember, or something.

Surely, Oikawa flirting with him shouldn’t send his head into full shutdown like this?

Grumbling to himself, barely audible in the buzz of the busy bar, he stepped back without checking if his path was clear. In a flurry of motion, Oikawa’s arm shot out, pulling Iwaizumi firmly into his chest and out of the path of one of the bar staff carrying a case of collected glasses and bottles.

Iwaizumi’s eyes were wide, his face neatly tucked into Oikawa’s shoulder by the taller man’s firm hold on the back of his head - and it did absolutely nothing to calm his Oikawa-induced rotting of the brain.

Oikawa had moved fast, almost before Iwaizumi himself had even stepped back. He was perceptive, and Iwaizumi was grateful to have been saved from the mess of crashing into a staff member at the bar’s busiest time.

“Uh - thanks?” Iwaizumi mumbled, acutely aware of the diminished gap between the two of their faces. He reluctantly pulled himself out of Oikawa’s careful hold, his skin burning from the contact and his eyes averting away from Oikawa’s taller frame.

“What would you do without me, hm?”

Iwaizumi felt recognition seep into his chest as he recalled those words from those lips just the night before, but before he could joke about it he caught himself.

It wasn’t _him_. It wasn’t _Iwaizumi Hajime_ that Oikawa had said those words to just the same.

It was the Ace.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ace meets his adversary and this time, they talk.

_“--tonight, we are proud to share with the world the first confirmed image of the villain who has been terrorising the city. Noting his headpiece, this grand king’s crown seems to be the source of his power. The public has been warned not to engage with him if he strikes the city again. The city hopes that the Ace will be able to stop this villain’s reign of terror over us all, dethroning him and restoring balance once more. Miya Atsumu, for the News at Ten.”_

The television was on in the background as Iwaizumi tinkered around, repairing his mask. The voices should have been comforting, but with his heightened senses, Iwaizumi found them hard to tune out and concentrate on the task in front of him. He almost wished that Hanamaki was home because even his rambling about Matsukawa (equal parts affectionate and aggravated) would be easier to stomach than listening to the news reporters talk about himself and _the Grand King_ , as they seemed to have named him.

It was oddly fitting, Iwaizumi noted. The way he acted had a regal air, making Iwaizumi want to bow down for him, to obey most strangely. It was dangerous. Nothing good would come from it.

But remembering the taste of his strawberry chapstick, the way his lips moved frantically against Iwaizumi’s own like a man starved, made Iwaizumi’s head spin. It replayed on a loop in his head and made him feel equal parts frustrated and guilty.

His fingers twitched, no longer soothed by completing the repairs necessary for his mask to be fully operational once again.

Iwaizumi’s large hands moved with superhuman care and grace. Each tiny movement helped him carefully solder the hardware inside the mask; he’d repaired it so many times at this point it was like second nature. Every time, he rebuilt a little part of it, feeling like he was putting his engineering degree to good use. He made the black mask faster, made it better. It was a far cry from the black ski mask he used to wear as a youth.

The headaches from the probable concussions he’d received on his nightly adventures were getting worse, and the lack of sleep was getting to him. Maybe if he could stop laying awake at night thinking about either the friend that probably didn’t like him back or worse, the serial criminal who happened to be one of the best kissers he’d ever come across, his head wouldn’t constantly feel like it was about to burst open like something out of a dumb sci-fi movie that Oikawa would beg him to watch when their respective roommates were making out.

It was a necessary step, lightening his gear; he was slower, weighed down by excess armour and padding he’d installed in the lining of his clothes long before he’d fully filled it out. Thinking realistically, he didn’t need the very small amount of protection that each padded curve would provide to him. He had Oikawa to heal him if things went wrong. And besides - if he was going to chase the Grand King, as the television reporter had dubbed him due to the dramatic look of his headpiece, he needed to be as fast as possible.

There was something about the Grand King that always bothered the Ace; how were his reactions faster than the Ace’s, when the Ace’s were of superhuman origin? How was the Grand King so powerful? Although his own origin story was long and convoluted and harrowing, he couldn’t help but wonder if the other man had been subjected to the same treatment as himself. Was the Grand King another secret experiment? Was the Grand King like him? Was he not alone any longer?

He pushed that last thought away determinedly. They were nothing alike. The Grand King was a _criminal_ , and Iwaizumi couldn’t stomach the idea of his actions hurting others.

Sighing, Iwaizumi scrubbed a hand over his face to try and rid himself of the stress and tiredness he felt near constantly these days. The burden of the city’s wellbeing bore down on his shoulders, but he didn’t feel like he had the right to be frustrated by it. He was bound by duty, but even titans strained under the weight of the world.

There was a light next to Iwaizumi’s dorm room bed, disguised as a random piece of nerdy junk so that his roommate wouldn’t notice it, and it lit the room through the shine of red LED bulbs; the city needed him, yet again.

He was at their beck and call, like a police dog, and the precincts were often a little too trigger happy calling him. As much as he wanted to do the greater good, they surely didn’t need him for every minor burglary case in the city.

He recalled the anti-police protest he’d seen promoted on campus over the last few days - though he was a little too tired to remember the allegations against them, he sympathised with their cause. But could he risk joining them, supporting them? What if his identity was revealed, and some random student piped up saying that they’d seen the Ace at an anti-police march? It was a nightmare waiting to happen.

Besides, it was midterms season. The Ace would be no help to anyone if his mother murdered him for flunking his classes.

He pulled the newly repaired mask over his head, changing out of his usual civilian attire and into the fitted black suit of his fighting gear. It was formed from a synthetic fibre he’d designed himself back when he was an undergraduate, and its properties were tailored to help him have the upper hand when fighting his enemies. Flame retardant, shockproof, breathable, waterproof… the list went on.

He just hoped it would be enough to defeat the Grand King. It had to be.

Iwaizumi locked his bedroom door, leaving the television set playing in a weak attempt to make it seem like he was home in case his roommate got suspicious. He doubted that Hanamaki would even notice his absence, as he was neither a cream puff or Matsukawa Issei, but at least Iwaizumi could say he tried.

The Ace took a deep breath before swinging out of his bedroom window, steeling his nerves as he allowed the comms system to boot up again.

_“Good evening, Ace. We’ve uploaded the location of interest to your mask, so start heading that way. We’re deploying some backup, too. It’s the Grand King, he’s struck again. Or he is right now, I think -”_

Kindaichi cut himself off. He tended to ramble on when he first spoke to Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi suspected that it was because he had some kind of idolistic admiration for him. Or rather, for _the Ace_. Iwaizumi was flattered, of course - but he knew that deep down it was all false. Kindaichi wouldn’t be able to pick him out from a line-up, even though he was the Ace’s closest ally on the force. Saying that, Iwaizumi had no idea what Kindaichi looked like, either - yet another example of him being kept at arm’s length by the police force, despite all of the Ace’s help that he had given them. The Ace barely knew anyone from the force, and it was a little weird that he was just supposed to have blind faith in them all regardless. 

He exhaled deeply as he made a concerted effort to push away the negative thoughts that crept in once more - now wasn’t the time to have an existential crisis, or to question just what he was in for. “Got it, Kindaichi. Headed there now.”

The journey across the city was brief as he swung, jumped and climbed between rooftops with ease. His stamina was truly something to behold, as any mortal man would be bent double, wheezing with exhaustion by the time the Ace reached the District Attorney’s office. As it was, Iwaizumi simply stretched out his neck muscles before scanning the building for any hostiles. He noted that on the street outside the building there were a considerable number of men dressed in black, just like there had been at the lab job. Kindaichi must have been right, then.

Was _he_ here?

The Ace tried not to hope too much.

Kindaichi provided the Ace with a safe route into the building - a police sniper shattered one of the upstairs windows, allowing for the Ace to swing his body inside, rolling to avoid jarring or bruising his knees as he landed. Scanning the room, he allowed himself to focus on tracking down his opponent.

He winced in pain as a loud, shrill whine of static erupted in his ears; his communications line had been sabotaged.

_**Fuck**_.

It wasn’t essential, but not having a line of communication meant he couldn’t get help from his police contact. He wouldn’t have the upper hand, with Kindaichi scanning the CCTV footage, or giving him another view of the situation ahead. There was nothing for it, though; the Ace edged forward, cursing softly to himself under his breath as he scanned the building for signs of anyone else’s presence.

With his heightened senses, the Ace could hear movement in the floor above him where the District Attorney’s personal office was. Unsurprised, the Ace readied his fists in case he came to blows on the way up the staircase.

The building was old, and each step he took creaked in the silence of the stairwell. The stairs were not his ally, it seemed. He cringed with each groan of the wooden floorboards, doing his best to stay silent and not alert anyone to his whereabouts.

He reached the top, eventually, after a long-winded attempt at keeping his presence from the attention of his foe. The Ace was ready for a fight, his fists still curled up at his sides on the off chance that one of the lackeys had heard his ascent and decided to investigate, but he was still alone.

The door to the grand office was in front of him. The blinds were pulled down, but the Ace could see the dim lamplight casting someone’s shadow against the window into the corridor. They moved at a leisurely pace as if nothing could bother them, as if they were meant to be there.

The Ace could tell it was him. His commanding, regal presence made the Ace almost want to bow to him; he ignored that dangerous desire, shaking his head as if that would clear all thoughts of submission.

He was frustrated that he didn’t have the comms anymore, but for a brief moment, he considered that maybe that was a good thing. He didn’t want to get caught kissing the enemy (again).

It was fleeting, but it was still there, and Iwaizumi felt guilty to his core at even entertaining the bizarre attraction he had to this criminal.

He approached the door with footsteps lighter than the beat of a butterfly’s wings.

It didn’t matter, though. The Grand King was expecting him.

The Ace pushed open the door, entering with his body fully ready to accept any blows that the Grand King would send his way - but it was pointless, as the man simply shot him a smile that was equal parts infuriating and dazzling.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, _honey_.”

“Stop committing crimes and we won’t have to see each other at all.”

“Somehow, I doubt either of us would let that happen.”

The Ace was caught off guard, blinking dumbly at his opponent. Usually, smart comments came naturally to him. The wit - it was part of the job. But somehow, he went dumb every time this guy spoke to him. That voice, deep and rich, though higher than his own, was sweet in his ears like syrup.

He tried not to get distracted, but his feet carried him forward.

“What are you here for?” the Ace asked, tilting his head at the stack of papers in the male’s hands.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, hm?”

_There was that smile again. Get it together, Iwaizumi._

“I would.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not time to share that with you, dearest. Soon, you’ll understand everything.”

_Dearest?_

The Ace’s hands fidgeted at his sides, his face scrunching up in annoyance. “Don’t patronise me. You’re a criminal. It’s my job to stop you.”

“Is it? I wasn’t aware you were anything more than the cop’s little lap dog, playing fetch whenever there’s a crime that’ll take longer than a half-hour doughnut break to solve.” There was a sneer and a scoff, and for some reason, the Ace couldn’t really find anything to disagree with.

He _had_ been at the constant beck and call of the police force, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel used the majority of the time.

He was risking his life nearly every day for the city, unable to lead the normal life of a graduate student in his twenties, without so much as a hint of reward. He didn’t do it for recognition or money or _whatever_ , but just _something_ would be better than constantly being left to shoulder the city’s burdens alone.

“It’s not as bad as you make it out to be.”

“You don’t seem so convinced.”

“Well, it’s none of your business, is it?” The Ace snapped, scowling at his opponent.

“Well, dollface, I think you’re wrong. Hear me out.” It was an order, and the Ace obeyed, despite all logic and reason. “Do they ever share information with you? Do they ever give you the full picture? Or do they just expect _blind faith_ because they’re the _cops_ and surely that means they’re _good_ people? You’re a good man, I can see that, but you aren’t thinking about this clearly. And I can show you the truth, Ace. I can, and I _will_. I’ll expose the deep _rotting_ insides of the organisation that’s supposed to protect this city and keep it safe, and I will dismantle them. I hope you join me, Ace.”

He was silent. The Ace had nothing to say to that, because he couldn’t deny that, in some sort of way, the Grand King was right. The police had always expected blind faith from him, for him to do everything _their_ way, even when it wasn’t the safest way or put others at risk or it just didn’t make any sense at all.

The Ace remembered throngs of trigger-happy cops allowing their excitement and bloodlust to take over, civilians getting hurt and the cops being rewarded for their ‘bravery’ with tokenistic medals and ceremonial bullshit. It made him sick to his stomach, but he grit his teeth. He refused to admit anything to this entitled douchebag.

“Whatever. Please shut up, I don’t have time to deal with this.”

The seriousness of the Grand King’s little speech dissipated as his mood changed from a grave solemnity to a flirtatious challenge. “Why, you got a hot date tonight?”

“Something like that.”

“How cruel, Ace. Did our kiss mean nothing to you?” There he went again, teasing. That smirk was infuriating, and Iwaizumi felt his jaw clench and his ears burn as he remembered their shared moment of weakness on the rooftop.

“As I recall, you beat the shit out of me, kissed me against a door, and dipped. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘budding romance’, does it?” He shot back, trying not to let the other see that he was more than a little bit flustered.

“Why, would you prefer to be wined and dined? I’m sure we could figure something out. We’ll have to find a restaurant that lets people wear masks, though. Don’t think I’m ready to share who I am just yet, sweetheart.”

“Oh, get fucked.” The Ace snapped. His temper was growing shorter by the second, and he rolled his eyes to resist throttling his opponent before he had a chance to gain any useful information.

“I’m trying.”

The grunt of annoyance that passed through the Ace’s terse lips was accompanied by him crossing the room and pinning the taller male by his neck against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

The Ace quickly wished he’d pinned the Grand King’s hands, because his captive immediately let the papers and documents he’d been scanning fall from his hands to the floor, placing his palms over the Ace’s burning cheeks and tilting his head up. He kept their faces tantalisingly close but didn’t allow their lips to touch.

That line was for the Ace to cross.

It was so that the Ace was reminded who had the power, who was in control, and who was too _weak_ to resist temptation.

“What do you want from me?” whispered the Ace, his voice pained as he desperately tried to get a grasp on the situation.

“This.”

Their eyes locked, the Grand King’s gloved hands brushing the Ace’s cheeks with the most tender, fond expression gracing his face. It still messed with the Ace’s head that he had no idea what this man looked like, thanks to his mirage abilities, but even so, the Ace could read the softness blooming on the Grand King’s features.

The Ace hated himself for giving in to the burning temptation, but he stood on the balls of his feet, tilting his face up to take his enemy’s lips with his own.

The kiss was desperate, needy. The Ace was addicted to the burn of the Grand King’s lips as they pressed against his own with equal fervour. It seemed any trace of hesitance after their previous encounter had dissipated, replaced by a need that overwhelmed them both equally.

Their bodies pressed together, pulses racing with twin heartbeats as they tried to eradicate any form of distance between them. The Ace felt that there was an overwhelming urge for them to touch as much of each other as possible, with the Grand King’s hands travelling over the Ace’s toned body like he was committing it to memory. The Ace felt like a trophy in the Grand King’s hold, and he wasn’t sure that he minded at all.

The Ace’s hand was still wrapped around the column of his opponent’s neck but found the noise that was ripped from the Grand King’s throat absolutely shameful as he gently applied pressure. The Ace shuddered, his eyes glazed as he dared steal a glance at the male in front of him.

He felt insane.

The Ace’s skin burned under each touch, and he didn’t know how he was supposed to process whatever it was that he was feeling when his enemy was making such sinful noises all because of _him_. 

He leaned into the touch of the Grand King’s hands, letting their hips roll together like desperate addicts chasing their next high. There were gasps and the Ace was sure that he was crying a little under his mask; he couldn’t help but want something so wrong, and it made him feel dirty, but the touch of this man’s hands against his waist was making him dizzy in the best way. He couldn’t bring himself to pull away, and it seemed that the Grand King couldn’t either. They were pawing at each other, never slipping hands underneath clothes but still trying to memorise every tantalising curve of muscle and flesh.

_Who knew when they would ever feel this way again? Who knew when they would experience the blasphemous heaven of another’s touch, and whether it would even compare to this? Could anything ever?_

Reason clouded the euphoria in Ace’s brain, dampening his spirit somewhat, but he continued to press his lips hungrily against his enemy’s.

His hand slipped to his opponent’s belt, freeing a dagger from its holdings with one hand. The Ace hoped that the Grand King was as thoroughly distracted as he had been mere seconds earlier.

Guilt washed over him at the thought of what he was about to do, but this was what he had come for. With a sharp movement of his arm, he sank the blade into the flesh of his opponent’s stomach.

The Grand King let out a sick, animalistic hiss of pain, his eyes flying open and staring at the Ace in disbelief before unbridled rage set in. Clutching his side with his left hand, the Grand King’s hand swung, fist connecting with the sharp line of the Ace’s jaw.

The Ace stumbled back, startled by his opponent’s strength even in his wounded state.

“That’s not a nice way to treat your _date_ , Ace.” snarled the Grand King, and the Ace knew that the expression of anger, paired with kiss swollen lips, was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

“I’ll bring flowers next time.” The Ace managed to get the words out without tripping over them, and for a second the other man smiled at him earnestly, about to laugh, before being struck by the pain from the wound in his side.

“You’re gonna regret this, Ace.”

“I’m sure I will.” He agreed, once again raising the knife and pointing the blade towards his opponent. “I have a job to do.”

“So do I, so if you’ll excuse me -” The Grand King cut himself off, lunging forward and knocking the blade from Iwaizumi’s grip with a grunt - the Ace knew that it likely tore his stab wound a little, the flesh rupturing, and for a moment he felt guilty, before reminding himself that this was his duty. Not to kiss the Grand King, but to dispose of the threat.

The Ace took the opportunity to land his fist in his opponent’s stomach. His fist was covered in the warm crimson of his opponent’s blood as the Ace raised it to land another blow.

His target had other ideas, however, retrieving the fallen knife and sinking it into the tight flesh of the Ace’s leg repeatedly, a rapid flurry of desperate attacks. It drew out a hiss of agony from the Ace, until he stepped back out of range, kicking his attacker in the chest and sending him flying into a stack of books.

It didn’t take long for the Grand King to regain balance, spitting a gob of blood and spit onto the floor with a face marred by disgust. Swiping with the knife, the man lunged forwards once more, doing his best to inflict numerous superficial wounds.

Like their last fight, the Grand King was avoiding giving major injuries. He was protecting the Ace, in a twisted way, and for a second the Ace had a fleeting thought of ‘ _does this mean that he likes me?_ ’ before realising he was losing his goddamn mind for both entertaining the thought and caring about the answer.

There was a brief struggle as fists collided with stomachs and noses and jaws. It was more of a dance than a fight, and the Ace had to admit that despite the circumstances, the Grand King still looked beautiful under the dim lighting of the District Attorney’s office.

Taking advantage of the Ace’s distraction, the Grand King grabbed the small stack of papers he’d placed to one side earlier and dove out of the window, shards of glass shattering around him as he disappeared into the night. The Ace took a moment to catch his breath before shame began to curl in his stomach, heavy and sickening.

He had failed again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ace gets his wounds patched up. Iwaizumi attends an anti-police march. ACAB.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, find me on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/bluenimi)!
> 
> kudos and comments are appreciated, as always. <3

The lacerations that decorated Iwaizumi’s skin stung as he moved, the fabric of his combat suit brushing against the fresh wounds.

He was on his way to get medical help after an extremely long debriefing from Kindaichi’s superior officer, Sawamura Daichi. Though he wasn’t seriously injured, it irked Iwaizumi that he wasn’t allowed to leave until they were done with him. Yet again, it was their terms.

He understood that the perpetrator had escaped again, but it was complicated. There was so much going on, and besides - what could be so important to the Grand King that he’d risk his life to steal it, and why was it in the District Attorney’s office?

Iwaizumi reckoned he’d find out soon enough, with the Grand King’s track record.

He tried not to think about the man for too long. The Grand King tended to make his head spin, distracting him, and he’d rather not misjudge the jump between the rooftop he was on and the fire escape outside Oikawa Tooru’s bedroom.

Oikawa was already going to chastise him for getting roughed up once again, and Iwaizumi could only pray that his lips weren’t as swollen as his opponent’s had been when they pulled apart.

He clutched at a particularly deep gash on his side before knocking on Oikawa’s bedroom window shakily. Iwaizumi hoped to all that was holy that his favourite medical student was home and not working a shift at the hospital that night. He’d forgotten to check Oikawa’s work rota, instead following his feet as they drew him all the way across the city to the bedroom. It was a little funny, how Oikawa’s room was like a homing beacon to him - Iwaizumi was certain that no matter what, he’d be able to make it back to this spot even in the roughest of situations.

He was lucky, he guessed. Oikawa was home.

There was some shuffling from the darkness of the bedroom, and a lamp switched on, illuminating the scene before Iwaizumi’s eyes.

Oikawa, barely dressed, curled up in bed and staring sleepily up at him. Iwaizumi nearly laughed at the yawn that passed through Oikawa’s lips; it was so cute that it almost seemed staged, like he was over-exaggerating his tiredness. Surely, no one could be that endearing. Nevertheless, Oikawa hoisted himself out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt before padding over to the windowsill.

“Good evening, Ace. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“May have gotten into a _tiny_ fight, and who else could patch me up as well as you do, hm?” Iwaizumi relaxed, anonymity making him flirty and bold and more obvious than he ever thought he could be otherwise.

“Maybe a real doctor? A _qualified_ one?”

“Come on, Oikawa. We both know you’re as good as.” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, then realised Oikawa wouldn’t be able to see it and carefully bumped their shoulders together as he was laid out on the bed, ready to have his various wounds cleaned up.

“So you say. If your arm gets infected and falls off, don’t come crying to me.”

“I think by that point I would stop talking to you.” The Ace let a laugh out into the quiet of the room, and he didn’t miss how Oikawa’s eyes lingered on his masked face. Though he was surely reading too much into it, he let himself bask in Oikawa’s attention for a little while longer, pretending that that’s just how they were.

Oikawa pressed the antiseptic solution against the shallow flesh wounds that crisscrossed the Ace’s abdomen, pursing his lips and avoiding the Ace’s gaze as he ran his thumb gently across the ruby-red gashes.

“Wow, you must have really pissed someone off,” Oikawa mumbled, his thumb gently caressing the outside of the wound as if studying it. It hurt a little, Oikawa’s gentle touch irritating the damaged flesh, but Iwaizumi couldn’t bring himself to mind when Oikawa was this close to him, caring for him.

“Yeah, I did.” The Ace stiffened, his hands curling up into fists at his sides as he looked away from Oikawa’s gaze. The guilt of being so effortlessly enamoured with Oikawa while repeatedly risking his life for the sake of some sexual tension with a criminal mastermind was a lot to handle, and it proved difficult to meet Oikawa’s eyes when less than an hour ago he was rolling his hips against a wanted fugitive like a teenager at a house party.

“Well, I’m sure you deserved it.” Oikawa smiled, shooting the Ace a cheeky wink and despite the cliche of it all, Iwaizumi swore he felt time slow down in that moment.

Iwaizumi yearned for Oikawa; he knew he wanted Oikawa’s affections to solely belong to him, but that was hard to fathom when Iwaizumi didn’t even know who ‘he’ was. Was he just a graduate student with some interesting extracurriculars? Was he a superhero, with Oikawa being his anchor in the world of uncertainty?

It was a simple enough truth, though. Iwaizumi wanted to wake up in the morning next to _this_ man, who he found comfort in with every touch, every band-aid splayed over his sliced skin, every cotton pad covered in the antiseptic ointment.

The deep-rooted longing squeezed his heart tight and reminded him of the night’s events.

‘ _How can I sit here and flirt with Oikawa after taking advantage of his kindness, when I can’t control myself around someone who’s supposed to be my target?_ ’ Iwaizumi thought to himself, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from looking vulnerable or emotional in front of the person he liked so much it made him _stupid_.

Iwaizumi let his mind wander a little as Oikawa stitched up some of the deeper wounds with careful, entrancing precision. He thought about their first meeting, as the Ace and Oikawa. Iwaizumi had been bleeding out, heavily injured on the pavement outside Oikawa and Matsukawa’s apartment building. Without a second thought, Oikawa had jumped into action, performing the necessary emergency procedures to keep him alive. Even though it had been snowing, Oikawa had torn his favourite shirt to pieces to fashion homemade bandages, and Iwaizumi didn’t think he could think of someone more beautifully selfless if he tried.

He stayed alive because of Oikawa’s actions time and time again, and how does Iwaizumi repay him? By continuing to lie to him about his identity? By making out at random with a wanted criminal?

It was absurd to think Oikawa would want him or choose a life of worry and injury and danger just to be _with_ him. It was never going to be more than the domestic fantasy that Iwaizumi had craved since they’d become friends, thanks to Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s budding romance and lifelong friendship.

Iwaizumi was disturbed from his pity party by Oikawa carefully rolling him onto his side. Oikawa’s steady hands shifted the synthetic material of the Ace’s suit to reveal a deep gash that Iwaizumi himself hadn’t even noticed.

It was odd - how had Oikawa noticed this tiny detail, when Iwaizumi hadn’t exposed his back to the other, or even known about it himself?

Pursing his lips, he dared ask.

“How’d you know I was hurt there? I didn’t even notice.”

Oikawa answered quickly. “I notice everything about you.”

Was it shyness that prevented Oikawa from meeting Iwaizumi’s gaze? Was he flustered? Did he mean to sound like he was flirting?

The cocktail of blood loss, emotional confusion and exhaustion made the Ace’s head spin, and he simply hummed in acknowledgement of the medic’s words. He closed his eyes, sighing.

“Ace, you need to rest. Go home, wherever that is. You can’t save the city if you can’t save yourself from passing out, hm?”

Iwaizumi didn’t want to open his eyes. Groaning, he forced himself to open them behind the mask, and he took a second to enjoy watching the medic. He would allow himself that moment of indulgence before going home.

Sitting up, he ran a hand through his hair; Oikawa was right, he needed to recuperate at home. Iwaizumi tried hard not to think about how nice it would be to curl up in Oikawa’s bed and sleep tonight and tomorrow and maybe a little longer than that away.

Iwaizumi failed at that, too.

“You’re right. Maybe you’re not such an idiot after all, hm?”

“I’ll remind you of this next time you call me a buffoon.”

“Somehow, I know you will.” The smile on Iwaizumi’s face was tired, but his sleepiness was mirrored in the other’s gaze. Eyelids drooping, hair a mess - Iwaizumi thought he looked soft, almost. Innocent. Good. “I’ll be going now, but - thank you, again.”

Oikawa shot him an honest smile, and Iwaizumi hoped that the look in his eyes was affectionate and just for _him_.

**\---**

The crowd around Iwaizumi was nearly electric in atmosphere. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, but he knew for a fact that it wasn’t because he was under threat, like usual. Iwaizumi was safe, a face in the sea of people that had shown up to voice their criticisms, to physically demonstrate their frustrations towards politicians, police, and perpetuators of a community’s pain that seemed to never end.

Allegations of corruption had been printed in the newspapers, but even still - there seemed to be no consequences for the perpetrators.

The crowd was by no means a mob - if it was, Iwaizumi couldn’t be certain he wasn’t going to be called in as his alter ego to deal with it - but it certainly was a growing mass of bodies, each demonstrating that they had reached their limit. Some carried signs, some screamed out their frustrations into the mass of people around them. Some, like Iwaizumi, were too floored by the intensity of the situation to say anything at all but did their part to show up and make their stance on the situation known.

Though Iwaizumi was walking as a civilian - thanks to Hanamaki’s persistent nagging about his moral duty, blah blah - he began to feel that this contribution to society was more worthy of celebration than any of his missions as the Ace.

Hanamaki had cornered him a few days prior; he was involved in campus politics and had noticed that Iwaizumi had never really committed to the plans to attend the peaceful anti-police protest. With the promise of a ride there and back, and that Hanamaki would buy them takeout for dinner, it wasn’t a hard sell to convince Iwaizumi to come. Besides - he wanted to know _why_ people were so angry, _why_ they couldn’t let things slide anymore. The possibility of Oikawa showing up, thanks to Matsukawa being similarly wrangled along by Hanamaki made the deal syrupy sweet, but he kept that particular factor to himself.

Iwaizumi had decided to attend the demonstration easily, but not lightly - he would be prepared to be called in at a moment’s notice, and wouldn’t do anything to draw attention to himself if he could explicitly avoid it.

As he marched with his peers, with his colleagues, with his friends - though Hanamaki had almost immediately ditched him to try and find Matsukawa amongst the amassed throng of protestors - Iwaizumi felt different. He had worked endlessly for years towards the greater good of this city he called home, but somehow this - the peacefulness of it, the unity - felt more like progress than any knocking out of hired muscle ever had. Each time he set one foot in front of the other, he felt a little weight ease off of his shoulders - though the burden of being the city’s anonymous protector would never fade entirely, being a part of the mass that comprised the vanguard that defied the corrupt forces of power that plagued the city certainly counted towards making progress.

Iwaizumi used the onward march of the mass of people as an opportunity to think. He didn’t get many of those, these days. He read the signage that protestors carried with them, listened to the collective chants from the mass of bodies shouting as one, and turned introspective - were these people _right_? He had to push past the growing discomfort and think, at least on behalf of those who couldn’t - there were those who had died at the hands of trigger-happy, jumped up officers of the law who just begged for an opportunity to expend power that wasn’t theirs in the first place. And what of those who had been caught in the crossfire of the underhand bribes and immorality of the local government? But at the same time, Iwaizumi thought about the countless times that he - and, by extension, the police - had prevented major catastrophe from befalling the city time after time. He thought about the officers that gave their lives for the protection of these very people that were protesting _right now_ and he struggled to reconcile all of these alternative views together. It was making him a little queasy and weak, to say the least, as his steps were a little less sure of themselves as they had been mere minutes ago.

Corruption, bribery, unwarranted brutality, misappropriation of public funds - the list went on and on, and what if it was all _true_?

Thinking about it all was difficult, so it was no surprise that Iwaizumi found himself overwhelmed, his pulse racing and losing any sense of direction as he drowned in the wide expanse that made up the sea of protestors. He was sinking, head slipping below the surface - _God, not here, not right now-_

Iwaizumi’s eyes were squeezed shut as he sank to the floor, immobile as his buckled knees went totally slack underneath him. He was breathing fast and hard like there was the threat of him not being able to breathe in another lungful of precious air. He wasn’t too far into the crowd, but he had to admit - Iwaizumi had never felt more disjointed in his place than when he prised open his eyes to see people of all kinds stepping over him like he was a mere phantom of those they were marching to avenge.

Iwaizumi was no stranger to panic attacks - he’d had them a lot as a teenager, though usually in the confinement of his bedroom in the wee hours of the morning - but he hadn’t felt one like this for years. It was shaking him deep, to his core, and for a second he thought he was hallucinating when a familiar pair of hands pulled him to his feet with an ease that was near-magical.

“Oikawa?”

“Shh, let’s get you out of the way, first.”

So he wasn’t dreaming.

Iwaizumi allowed Oikawa to pull him out of the path of the moving mass of people, bringing him to the front step of a long-since-closed storefront. Oikawa wasn’t saying anything at all to him, and Iwaizumi was still way too overwhelmed to ask how he’d known Iwaizumi was even there.

He wasn’t used to feeling vulnerable like he needed help from whoever was willing to show him kindness - but somehow, it was a little easier with Oikawa than most. It wasn’t making him feel like a failure, and he was grateful for that as he took the time to even out his breathing. Oikawa pressed a cool bottle of water into his clammy palms, and Iwaizumi was grateful - he drank from it like a man dying of thirst, and he could have sworn he saw Oikawa’s gaze travel down the column of his throat as a stray droplet of water traversed the sharp curve of his adam’s apple. Iwaizumi decided to chalk it up to Oikawa’s friendly concern and tried hard to think about anything. His mind was still whirling - he couldn’t _quite_ get a handle on the range of emotions that he was feeling, but at least now he had Oikawa. Right?

“You shouldn’t have come to this.” Oikawa’s voice wasn’t sharp as he admonished Iwaizumi, but it was enough for Iwaizumi to feel like he’d woken up in an alternate universe. It was always him warning Oikawa not to do idiotic things, or follow along with Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s brainless schemes - Iwaizumi was naturally the one to warn him not to be stupid. To be on the receiving end of that not-quite-disappointed tone was a little jarring.

“What?” Iwaizumi didn’t mean to sound gruff, or blunt, but he wasn’t blessed with communication skills like Oikawa’s - he didn’t know how to talk people round, he didn’t know how to have people eating out of the palm of his hand with that kind of cheery charm that was entirely practised by Oikawa to get exactly what he wanted.

“You heard me. What were you thinking?” Oikawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose- was he _angry_ that Iwaizumi had shown up to the protest? “You could have gotten crushed back there, you know? And then what?”

“I’m _fine_ -”

“You’re not. Don’t lie to me, Iwaizumi. I thought we were better friends than that, at least.”

_‘Okay, Oikawa is_ definitely _angry._ ’ Iwaizumi thought, but he couldn’t help but wonder why. “Are you going to tell me why you’re mad?”

“I’m _mad_ , Iwa-chan, because if I hadn’t noticed your stupid hedgehog hair go down in the middle of the crowd like a cake at a birthday party, you could have gotten seriously hurt.” Oikawa simply sighed, but his eyes were honest and concerned as they met Iwaizumi’s. His hands… they lifted, cupping Iwaizumi’s cheek with a type of delicate care that Iwaizumi wasn’t used to. “You seem to be okay now, but - just go home, okay? It’s too dangerous for you to be here, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi was still as confused as ever. “Just - why are you so angry? If it were Hanamaki, you’d have laughed it off. Why are you so mad at me?” It was probably the most joined-up words Iwaizumi had said to Oikawa without the protective anonymity of his mask for a little while, in the dizzy aftermath of his panic attack he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He simply thought about the warmth of Oikawa’s palms on his cheeks, the intensity of Oikawa’s gaze, and how he could make this whole thing okay again.

“Because you and Hanamaki are different. He’s Matsukawa’s boyfriend, right? My friend? You’re-”

The crowd that was still filtering past them seemed to erupt - Iwaizumi couldn’t tell if it was in cheers or in panic, and it set his synapses on fire. He leaned out of the shopfront, scanning the crowd - what if the Grand King was here? What if he was causing trouble? What if he -

“ _Iwaizuimi!_ ” The man in question was disturbed from his thoughts by the feeling of Oikawa grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him away from the marching throngs of people. He gawped at Oikawa, a little bashful - in his panic to scan the crowd for threats, he’d pushed himself fully into the incoming path of the moving hoard of bodies and was in danger of being swept out like he was at sea. Sheepish, he scratched the back of his neck as he avoided the look that came from Oikawa.

“Look, just go home. You look fucking exhausted, okay? Just - you can survive not being the hero all the time, Iwaizumi. Go and get some rest.” Oikawa was talking to him softly, and something deep inside told Iwaizumi that he couldn’t refuse his friend’s request.

His head was a little hazy, but he felt himself nod and agree, his lips pursing in their usual frown. He still didn’t understand what was happening, really - but he at least knew that Oikawa wanted to protect him. That felt… nice.

“Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi immediately met Oikawa’s gaze again, obedient and quiet - it was new for him, but he didn’t mind at all.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. It was… out of line.” Oikawa spoke quietly, but Iwaizumi could still hear him over the masses of people that passed by. “It’s not that you shouldn’t be here, of course - but _something_ tells me you aren’t sleeping, perhaps it’s the grotesque bags under your eyes - so, this probably wasn’t your smartest move. What if something happened to you and I wasn’t there, hm? What’s the point of having a med student for a friend if the one time that you need saving, I’m not there, right?” Oikawa was joking, but Iwaizumi knew - somehow, _somehow_ \- that it was just a front for concern. It made his stomach tighten, but he simply placed his hand on Oikawa’s shoulder. It was tentative at first, but it became a little more firm as he replied.

“I will go home, I will rest - but I promise you, I will not need saving. You don’t need to worry. And don’t yell at me because you’re worried, idiot.”

“Right, because that’s _your_ job.”

“Exactly.” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, but it made Oikawa laugh and somehow that made things fine. “I’ve never seen you that mad before.”

“I can get plenty mad. Just not at you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi wasn't having a good week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!!! early update because it's mother's day for me tomorrow and i have to socialise with my family lmao. feel free to scream at me @bluenimi on twitter or comment!! it really makes my day to hear your theories and thoughts, so keep em coming thank u <3

If Iwaizumi was brutally honest, he was not having a good week.

He was exhausted. Between being at the beck and call of the police department, his research project, and his total of eight hours asleep that week, he wasn’t sure whether he was going to have any strength left when the Grand King reared his head once more. Oikawa had been right at the protest - he needed to rest.

Resigning himself to the couch in his shared apartment, he lay on his side with a blanket pulled up to his chin and wormed around, grumbling to himself as he failed to get comfortable. 

Was it the couch that he and Hanamaki had salvaged from Goodwill? Or was it the gnawing feeling in his stomach?

Either way, he couldn’t seem to relax.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the events of the last week or so - meeting the Grand King, seeing Oikawa at the anti-police march, finals season. It was a lot to handle, and he was running on empty as he allowed his thoughts to swim around his head. Iwaizumi was struggling to stay afloat, knowing that no matter how he tried to relax, the prospect of seeing the Grand King again hung over him, making his body tense. He felt the same way about Oikawa, in an odd way - it was exhausting, holding himself back. Especially when he’d nearly messed everything up between them at the march.

The doorbell rang out into the silence of the apartment and Iwaizumi groaned, muttering under his breath. “For fuck’s sake. Can’t even lay on my _shitty_ couch without someone wanting something from me.” 

Hoisting himself up off of the moth-bitten piece of trash he called furniture, he was mindful of his healing injuries as he padded across the room. Though he was nearly entirely healed from the last mission, his skin still remained sore and angry-looking where he’d been stabbed by his opponent. 

Looking through the peephole, his eyes widened and he cursed himself for being in his pyjamas and with unkempt hair - on the other side of his front door stood Oikawa Tooru, a bag of takeout in hand as he waited, swaying slightly in place on the balls of his feet.

After a pathetic attempt at sorting his appearance in the nearby mirror, Iwaizumi opened the front door. He was certain that his expression betrayed his incredulity, but at least he wasn’t grinning like an idiot and exposing his middle-school crush on the other. 

“Uh, hey?” Iwaizumi tilted his head, confused at Oikawa’s presence.

“Oh - hey, yeah. This is for you -” Oikawa extended the bag of takeout out towards Iwaizumi- it was agedashi tofu, like Oikawa had read his mind. “Issei kicked me out of the apartment for tonight and Takahiro said that if I brought you this, you’d let me crash here until they’re done defiling our apartment.”

That earned a laugh from Iwaizumi, who simply shook his head in disbelief at the situation. He opened the door wider, and Oikawa relaxed as he was allowed into the apartment. 

As Oikawa kicked off his shoes, Iwaizumi tried not to let anxiety settle in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t been expecting Oikawa’s presence, hadn’t steeled himself for the effort it would take to stop himself from staring at or fawning over Oikawa. He usually had forewarning. He usually wasn’t wearing pyjamas with Godzilla printed on them, and his hair was usually at least a little bit neater.

He usually wasn’t covered in injuries when he saw Oikawa outside of costume, and he prayed that Oikawa wouldn’t notice or comment on the various lacerations and bruises spread over his tan skin.

“What happened, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa’s tone was strained as he took in the other’s appearance - Iwaizumi couldn’t possibly get any unluckier, his eyes not meeting Oikawa’s chocolate-y ones as he explained the problem away.

“I’m fine, I swear. Had some really vigorous testing for my research project, the fibres aren’t as shockproof as they ought to be yet.” Iwaizumi shot down Oikawa’s worries, attempting to smooth over the situation. He wanted nothing more than to ease the worry that was plain on Oikawa’s face.

“Please. Be more careful.” Oikawa didn’t reach to touch him, looking at Iwaizumi with pleading eyes. Iwaizumi’s skin burned under the other’s gaze. He didn’t like it. 

There was something about the way that the other’s gaze travelled over his skin, regretful and sombre, that Iwaizumi couldn’t stomach. For the first time in a long time, he felt breakable. He was a porcelain doll, and the rest of the world was a whisker away from smashing him to pieces.

“Come on, let’s eat,” was the only response that Iwaizumi could muster. He plastered on a tiny smile as he tried not to shrink under Oikawa’s gaze.

There was something warm about sitting at his dining table with Oikawa, making quiet conversation and laughing with him. He winced a few times, the wounds to his sides aching as he threw his head back in a loud burst of humour. If Oikawa noticed, he let it slide this time. 

_Is this what it would be like to date Oikawa? Would it come this easy?_

His jaw clenched as he pushed the thought away, preferring to focus instead on Oikawa’s antics at the hospital as the taller man relayed yet another of his stories. 

“-and that was when the poor guy threw up all over us. So, yeah - working in the ER was definitely an interesting time in my internship.” Oikawa was grinning as he relayed the events to Iwaizumi, who in turn rested his chin on his palm and listened intently. 

“Why do we never hang out, Iwa-chan?”

“Mainly because you insist on calling me that like we’re seven.”

Oikawa kicked his foot under the table, where their feet had been tangled together as they ate, and laughed as he rolled his eyes. The simple gestures squeezed Iwaizumi’s heart more than he could bear. “Shut up, it’s cute.”

“Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Oikawa sat back in his seat. “I’m serious, Iwa-chan. It’s not like we aren’t friends, is it?”

“No, we are,” Iwaizumi agreed, taking a sip of his water. “We have to be if we have a hope in hell of making Matsukawa and Hanamaki stop being gross in front of us.” He joked, but he still refrained from meeting the copper of Oikawa’s eyes. 

“So, it’s out of obligation?”

“No -”

“I’m teasing, Iwa-chan. No need to look so horrified, hm?” Oikawa’s smile was disorienting as always, and Iwaizumi wasn’t sure if Oikawa noticed him staring for just a second too long.

Iwaizumi faked a grumble, holding back his lips from slipping into a petulant pout as Oikawa’s would have. “Idiot. Come on. Dishes, then we can watch what you want on TV, okay?” 

Untangling his legs from Oikawa’s longer ones, Iwaizumi stood. He sunk his feet deeper into the warmth of his Godzilla house slippers, wiggling his toes as he stretched out his tight muscles with a tiny yawn. 

Oikawa was not immune to Iwaizumi’s tiredness and mimicked his motions as he stood. “God, it is getting late, isn’t it?” He asked, picking up the cutlery and tableware. 

Iwaizumi hummed in agreement as he went to begin the washing up; Oikawa picked up a cloth and began drying the plates and cutlery. It didn’t take them long. These stolen moments of domesticity and fondness were always too short, too fleeting to ever satisfy Iwaizumi. 

He grabbed some candy out of the kitchen cupboard - _thanks, Makki_ \- before leading his evening’s company through to the living area. Crashing down on the couch, Iwaizumi curled himself up on the sofa in the comfiest position he could manage, feet curled up at his side and his arm leaning on the arm of the sofa. 

Oikawa’s positioning mirrored his. 

At first. 

With each passing minute of _The X Files_ playing on Makki’s shitty television screen, Oikawa crept closer and closer to Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi was hyper-aware of each stolen inch but kept his eyes fixed on the screen, pretending to be absorbed in the events of the episode. 

In truth, he hadn’t paid any mind to the events happening on the screen. Iwaizumi had no clue who any of these people were. All he knew is that Oikawa’s hand lay upturned next to his, fingers twitching in silent invitation. 

Iwaizumi bit the flesh of his lower lip, carefully minding the only-just-healed, swollen area where he’d been injured. He then allowed his eyes to flicker between Oikawa’s upturned palm and his face, which was still determinedly pointed at the television screen - followed by a deep breath, Iwaizumi knew that they were poor attempts at preparing himself because nothing could preempt the way his heart raced as he slid the fingers of his broad, strong hands through Oikawa’s slender, careful ones.

A smile threatened to pull at Iwaizumi’s lips and he noticed the same lovestruck, almost dazed expression on Oikawa’s face when he dared to sneak a glance at him again. The pink dusting Oikawa’s cheekbones made Iwaizumi’s stomach twist with a thousand butterflies. 

He couldn’t hold the smile back anymore. It spread over his face, like the sun rising up from behind the clouds. Inevitable, uncontrollable. That’s how it always was with Oikawa.

Iwaizumi let himself cherish the contact of Oikawa’s palm against his own, fingers intertwined. He ran his thumb across the back of Oikawa’s hand and was pleased to hear his companion’s breath hitch. Iwaizumi’s gaze travelled back up to Oikawa’s face, and he knew that they were both in deep. 

For once, Iwaizumi wasn’t plagued by thoughts of _‘does he like me’_ or _‘does he like the other me’_ , instead revelling in the fact that no matter what was between them, Oikawa, here and now, was melting like butter in the palm of his hand.

Maybe it was the adrenaline junkie in him, but Iwaizumi decided to take a risk- a big one. He lifted their joined hands, bringing Oikawa’s knuckles to his lips and kissing each of them softly. He wasn’t brave enough to look at Oikawa’s face, but the laboured breathing that Oikawa sucked in was confirmation of just how much this was getting to him. 

Oikawa twisted his hand out of Iwaizumi’s hold, and for a moment he panicked before his worries were calmed. Oikawa cupped Iwaizumi’s cheek, tilting his head to face him. His thumb swept across Iwaizumi’s bottom lip, and Iwaizumi felt more bare than he ever had in his life. Their eyes were locked, their breathing heavy and synchronised, their heads inching slowly closer without either of them realising it.

Iwaizumi’s eyes flitted between Oikawa’s, checking for any kind of hesitance. “Is this what you want, Oikawa?”

“Tooru.”

“What?”

“Call me- call me _Tooru_. Please.” 

“Tooru.” It brought a sense of pride to Iwaizumi to call him by his given name, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth once more. The way the name tasted in his mouth was sweeter than any dessert he’d ever eaten. “Is this what you want, _Tooru_?”

“Yes, p-”

Iwaizumi cut off his plea by slotting their mouths together, his hand on Oikawa’s face as he pulled the taller male closer. Oikawa kissed back with a dizzying intensity, and Iwaizumi couldn’t imagine how he’d manage to resist this for as long as he had. 

Their breathing was heavy, like the weight of their choices. Oikawa pushed himself closer and closer to Iwaizumi, who reclined on the couch underneath the taller man. Their legs were tangled together, and before long, Iwaizumi could feel Oikawa laughing against his lips. 

Oikawa’s knee slotted between Iwaizumi’s legs, with no complaints from Iwaizumi in the slightest; he wanted to feel Oikawa’s proximity more than anything else and he’d do anything to encourage him to keep going, to keep pressing forwards.

Their lips parted together, the soft, chaste kisses turning into explorations of wet heat, and Iwaizumi was unsure whether his reddened face was from the racing of his pulse, or from the way it felt like Oikawa stole his breath from his lungs with every move of their mouths together. 

Their foreheads pressed together, both of them basking in the proximity, and it took all of Iwaizumi’s courage to look the other man in the eyes. Looking back at him, Iwaizumi saw a fondness in Oikawa’s eyes that brought yet another smile to his face.

“That was… alright,” Oikawa mumbled, the wide grin not leaving his face for a moment. 

Iwaizumi gave him a shove, taking care not to topple him over for real. “If it was only alright, go find someone else’s mouth to shove your tongue into, idiot.”

“Nah, I think I’m stuck on you now.”

“Oh, god.”

“Don’t call for him, he’s definitely not going to help you with what I’m planning for us.” Oikawa grinned, shooting Iwaizumi a wink with his eyes like a copper inferno. 

Iwaizumi choked on his breath, but he had no qualms at all about the situation. He pulled Oikawa in by the jaw for another heated kiss with a low groan of half desperation, half frustration. 

It was all clashing teeth and bruised lips as they pulled on each other, trying to get impossibly closer. Impatience burned their skin like paraffin, with the only salvation being the feverish touch of each other’s palms smoothing over their bodies. It was dizzying and delectable and Iwaizumi was free-falling, having jumped off straight off the edge of the cliff into the embrace of the ocean. 

Iwaizumi felt Oikawa’s palm smooth over the toned skin of his stomach, abdominal muscles tense as his back arched, hips rolling against Oikawa’s own. They moved at a steady pace, Iwaizumi being careful of the wounds that littered his skin from his Ace antics. He only flinched a couple of times when Oikawa’s long fingers accidentally caressed the broken skin of his hip or his waist, each one accompanied by a soft apology whispered against Iwaizumi’s mouth. 

Iwaizumi accepted each of them eagerly, distracted by the path of Oikawa’s lips across his jaw and down his neck, leaving bites and bruises in their wake. Each movement of Oikawa’s mouth and every action that Oikawa took pulled deep groans from Iwaizumi effortlessly. Iwaizumi felt the rush of heat spread from his cheeks to his chest, to his stomach, to his core - it was nearly familiar, the desperation that Oikawa brought out of him with the utmost ease. His fingers tangled briefly in the fabric of Oikawa’s t-shirt before lifting it, determined to expose Oikawa’s smooth, freckled skin in the dim lighting of the living room. 

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. Iwaizumi’s hands were trembling; he couldn’t slow down his racing pulse or thoughts as he scrambled to be closer to his lover. Fingers trembled as they dealt with the button and zipper of Oikawa’s jeans, and Iwaizumi only relaxed when he felt Oikawa’s hands over his own, steadying him and slowing him, whilst aiding him in stripping him of his clothing. 

Though the living room was lit solely by the television screen and the streetlight outside his apartment, Iwaizumi couldn’t help but think that Oikawa looked beautiful hanging over him this way. He was trapped, fully clothed in his pyjamas, pinned in place by the crush he found impossible to escape. He had no complaints.

His eyes soaked in the appearance of his lover, who took the opportunity to run his hands up Iwaizumi’s sides and suck soft bruises into the tanned skin of Iwaizumi’s neck. Iwaizumi groaned, weak and pliant under Oikawa’s touch in a way that felt almost familiar, though he was certain that he’d never been this close to the object of his affections before. 

The soft groaning echoed out into the emptiness of the living room, the television long forgotten as they got lost in each other’s touch, in each other’s gaze. Iwaizumi felt like a man starved, suddenly presented with a grand banquet prepared solely for him. Dragging Oikawa’s attention back up to his face, Iwaizumi claimed his moist, plump lips. He savoured the way they tasted like strawberries, a tiny detail that he was almost certain no one but him would be privy to. 

“Tooru.”

“Hm?” Oikawa hummed a reply against his lips, preoccupied with pressing sweet, slow kisses to Iwaizumi’s mouth. 

“Tooru, _stop -_ ”

The male hovering over him pulled back immediately, his gaze scanning Iwaizumi’s face for any sign of discomfort. His brows were furrowed in worry for a moment, and Iwaizumi thought he was devastatingly beautiful even then.

“Hajime, what’s wrong?” He breathed, his slender fingers caressing the sharp angle of Iwaizumi’s jaw. Iwaizumi nearly felt guilty for the worry that Oikawa was so clearly experiencing, from the furrowing of his brows to the way that Oikawa was searching his face for any sign of what he’d done wrong.

“No- nothing-” Iwaizumi’s cheeks were aflame and he averted his eyes from Oikawa’s gaze. He was shy. He didn’t like the softness that Oikawa brought out of him at a moment’s notice. “I just - I don’t want to take advantage of you, okay? I - this isn’t just because Makki and Mattsun kicked you out of your apartment, it’s - I like you, alright? Jeez.”

Oikawa’s concerned expression smoothed out, and for a second Oikawa’s bright laughter echoed out into the quiet of the living room. Bright peals of happiness, like the tinkling of bells or light shining through a stained glass window, stirred something akin to affection within the confines of Iwaizumi’s rib cage, and he could tell his face was getting redder by the second. 

This bastard was laughing at him. 

Hiding his face in the crook of his own arm, he groaned and pretended to shove Oikawa off of him. 

“Oh, come on. That’s the most ridiculous confession I’ve ever heard, for a start. And if you cast your silly little brain back, Hajime, you might recall that I was _very_ much interested in where we were heading. No advantage being taken.”

“Fuck off, I was being nice.”

“That makes a change, grumpy little Iwa-chan.” Oikawa grinned down at him before pressing their lips together in yet another kiss. Iwaizumi chuckled, pulling him closer and running his hands over Oikawa’s body as if to confirm that this was really happening. That he was really making out with Oikawa Tooru on his couch like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Maybe it would be, soon.

Iwaizumi considered how his evening had gone from pathetic to pretty much perfect; his mind was easily lost in _Tooru, Tooru, Tooru_ with every glide of their hands over each other’s bodies. Oikawa’s hands began sneaking under the fabric of Iwaizumi’s soft, warm pyjamas again, eager to remove them from Iwaizumi’s toned form. In turn, Iwaizumi was pliant, allowing their kiss to break as Oikawa lifted his shirt over his head. It was easy, natural as breathing as if they’d done this a million times over. 

Iwaizumi groaned, head lolling back against the couch as Oikawa sucked more harsh deep crimson marks into the skin of Iwaizumi’s neck, their hips rolling together with their mutual need for closeness. 

“Tooru-”

“ _What?_ ” The male on top pouted, clearly irritated at being interrupted once again.

There was only one thing Iwaizumi had to say, his deep green eyes locking with Oikawa’s deep brown ones. 

“Bedroom.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi gives himself to Oikawa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey this is just.... nsfw bc iwaoi sex so if you're uncomfortable with that, feel free to skip! you won't be missing much! if you shouldn't be reading nsfw please don't read this thanks. also double update because it probably should have been one chapter but i had to split it rip. don't judge me too hard help i am. skfhdsfb

Iwaizumi’s hands were on Oikawa’s bare chest. That was new, for certain - he’d never dared put his hands on Oikawa - no, _Tooru_ \- in this way, and certainly not without the barriers of clothing. Unwrapping Tooru from the restraints of his t-shirt had been a gift in itself, one that was reserved just for him alone. Though their clothes were abandoned on the floor of the living room he shared with Hanamaki, Iwaizumi was not thinking about anyone but Tooru - he couldn’t, and he didn’t want to.

They weren’t kissing. They had been, and they were surely about to, but this moment was reserved for the two of them to look, to commit every part of this moment to memory. Tooru looked at him, at _Hajime_ , like he could see beyond every lie and deception Hajime had ever told. It was terrifying, admittedly, but Hajime laid himself bare for Tooru in more than one way as he crossed his arms, raising his own t-shirt up and over his head. Discarding the clothing on the floor unceremoniously, Hajime shivered in Tooru’s lap with the medical student’s hands gripping his hips, as if to ground him to the present. Hajime didn’t have to say anything to let Tooru know he was grateful for the anchoring to the here and now - he pressed closer, running his hands over the defined pecs of the former volleyball player that was lounging back against his headboard, watching Hajime like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“What?” Hajime breathed. It wasn’t accusatory, but his cheeks were red and he couldn’t quite keep his gaze from drifting over Tooru’s shirtless body, finally allowed to indulge in the sight of him without fear of being rejected. 

“Nothing.” Tooru was smiling at him, the pads of his thumbs pressing hard into Hajime’s hips, then following up with tracing patterns onto his skin. The repetition of those actions reminded Hajime that this wasn’t a dream or a consequence of a particularly raunchy daydream about his crush. This was real, and Tooru was looking at him like Hajime was prey caught in his trap. “I just think that I like having you shirtless in my lap, that’s all. The fact that I’m your bed is a nice touch, too.”

Hajime wanted to kiss him or choke him for trying to get under his skin even in a moment like this. He wouldn’t be Tooru without the teasing, though. Hajime knew he liked it, really. So he allowed his brows to furrow, lips pressing into a line, and Tooru took the opportunity to pull Hajime closer with a careful hand wrapped around the back of Hajime’s neck, cradling it.

“You look pretty when you’re flustered, Hajime.” The breathy whisper against the shell of his ear made Hajime’s eyes close on instinct, easily submitting to Tooru’s touches in a way that seemed almost familiar - though he’d certainly remember doing _this_ with Tooru. 

Hajime would never be able to forget the way Tooru’s lips seemed near bruised after their frantic kisses shared earlier. He’d never be able to forget the little grunts that Hajime managed to draw out of Tooru. He’d never be able to forget the way Tooru sucked in a breath as Hajime rolled one of his nipples under his thumb experimentally. 

Hajime didn’t get tired of doing these things, either. Every fractionally different reaction from Tooru was worth committing to Hajime’s memory. He wouldn’t allow himself to waste a single second of this, either - he let the world slip away as Tooru’s hold on him got firmer, the pearly whites against his throat biting harder. It was a primal claim on Hajime, and he had no qualms with being Tooru’s in the slightest.

Hajime lifted his head, letting it fall back as he pressed his hips against Tooru’s, bucking and rubbing his clothed erection against the bare skin of Tooru’s abdomen. It must be the dizziness, the excitement of the situation because Hajime’s eyes can’t quite focus on the skin of Tooru’s muscles there - Hajime would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little embarrassed that he had become so sexually pent-up regarding Tooru that he _couldn’t focus his vision_ on his… lover?

Regardless, none of that mattered as Hajime panted, rolling his hips over and over against Tooru - he was shameless as he ground his hips down, feeling the tent in Tooru’s bottoms grow harder under his movements. 

There were too many clothes, it was too hot - Hajime was near desperate in his movements as he shifted out of Tooru’s lap. Kneeling on his bed, he manoeuvred Tooru with ease to peel off nearly every layer of clothes, exposing inch after inch of deliciously freckled skin. Hajime hoped that Tooru didn’t notice his display of superhuman strength, but Hajime also found it hard to care when _Oikawa Tooru_ was whispering dirty talk to him in the dim light of his bedroom.

“Good boy, Hajime. Come on, clothes off. Can’t wait to touch you, sweetheart. God, I’ve been thinking about this for so long, you have no idea.” Tooru was babbling now, pupils blown wide with a mix of lust and adoration, and Hajime couldn’t be sure whether his heart or his erection was more affected by it. 

The growl that rumbled up from deep in Hajime’s chest was borderline feral as he stripped the remaining layers from both of their bodies. They were finally naked, and Hajime claimed Tooru’s lips in an intense, possessive kiss - he bit Tooru’s bottom lip between his teeth, his hands wandering. He was nearly hesitant to touch Tooru’s hardness, but the way Tooru looked with his length leaking onto the skin of his torso vanquished any of his doubts. 

“Can I- ?” Hajime asked in the brief pause between their frenzied kisses. 

When Tooru half-begged, half-ordered him to touch his cock, his voice lower and gruffer than Hajime had ever heard it before, Hajime nearly lost his mind. He did as he was told, and the way Tooru’s moans sounded suspiciously like encouragement and praise sent a shiver of pure want down Hajime’s spine. Hajime palmed at him gently, first, taking the time to drink in the sinful sight that was Oikawa Tooru. He wrapped one hand around Tooru’s length, slowly stroking it and smearing the head of his cock with the leaking excess of pre-cum. When Hajime licked it off of his fingers, eyes locked with Tooru’s, Tooru’s eyes were ablaze; Hajime felt like he would burn under Tooru’s gaze, but it gave him the courage to sink to rest on his elbows. Though it was a little difficult, Hajime rested between Tooru’s spread legs, face hovering inches from Tooru’s erection as his hand continued to still slowly pump him. Hajime felt insane as he pressed the tiniest of kisses to Tooru’s shaft, his own green eyes still locked with Tooru’s brown ones. Hearing Tooru’s breath hitch was all the encouragement he needed, so Hajime wrapped his lips around the leaking head of Tooru’s cock.

“ _Fuck_ , Hajime-” The choked groan was loud in the silence of Hajime’s bedroom, and it was like ecstasy to Hajime. Every bob of his head, every hollowing of his cheeks, every groan around Tooru’s length - it seemed to drive Tooru mad, and Hajime wouldn’t be afraid to admit that he liked the way Tooru held the back of his head and rolled his hips upwards, fucking Hajime’s mouth with breathy moans of praise. 

Hajime was surprised when Tooru pulled him off of his cock by his hair, though he did make a mental note of the fact he liked the sharp pull on the brown spikes atop his head - when it was from Tooru, at least. Before Hajime could ask what was happening, Tooru was pulling him up, pulling Hajime to sit in his lap once more, though this time without the barrier of clothes separating them. 

“Baby, I’m going to come _way_ too fast if you keep going,” Tooru whispered against Hajime’s neck, planting a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the tanned skin there. 

Hajime felt a little pride swell in his chest - all he wanted was to make Tooru feel good, and that was confirmation that he was doing just that. He nodded in acceptance, but Hajime gasped when he felt Tooru’s careful grip on his neglected erection. Hajime wasn’t sure that he’d last long, if Tooru kept touching him just like that, just like he liked it, right there, fuck, _fuck-_

Hajime halted Tooru’s touch, wrapping his firm grip around Tooru’s wrist. “Wait, I- Tooru, I want you to fuck me.”

Tooru was looking at him in that way, again. Like Hajime was caught in Tooru’s cage. Hajime was fairly certain he’d walked into it himself, locking the door behind himself and throwing away the key - he wanted this, more badly than he’d ever wanted anyone. 

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

Hajime feels Tooru’s hands, those pretty hands that had threatened to make him fall apart moments before, on his ass - though Hajime was overall mostly muscle from relentless training to protect the city, Tooru still kneaded and rolled at the soft flesh of his ass, cherishing its roundness under his grip. Hajime could feel how Tooru was entranced with it, his touch never straying even as he bit and kissed the column of Hajime’s throat. 

As Hajime felt a finger ghost over his rim, he took it upon himself to reach for the lube stashed in his bedside table. He moved out of Tooru’s lap, and Hajime only prevented Tooru’s complaint by positioning himself on all fours in Tooru’s clear view, slowly working himself open. He heard Tooru’s reaction - an honest gasp, the clenching of a fist in the sheets of his bed. It was more than enough encouragement, and Hajime found himself nearly smiling when he heard a lube-slicked hand moving behind him - Tooru was getting himself off to the sight of Hajime spreading himself open on his thick, steady fingers, and the whole concept of it made Hajime’s brain short-circuit. 

He scrambled to move - climbing into Tooru’s lap, Hajime was mumbling low, quiet pleas for Tooru to fuck him. It was easy to submit to him like this, to beg for it - he trusted Tooru beyond explanation, and he wasn’t sure he could think straight until Tooru fucked him. 

Tooru agreed easily, and Hajime felt Tooru’s lips slide over his own in a soothing kiss. It was brief, but it was enough to calm Hajime down from his frantic, desperate begging for Tooru. 

Tooru lifted Hajime, switching their positions. Hajime felt himself get pushed to all fours again, Tooru’s hand running down his spine before it was groping lewdly at one round ass cheek, and then the other. 

“Are you sure you’re ready, darling?” Tooru’s voice was serious, even, but even still Hajime could tell that he was just as affected as Hajime was by this whole situation. Maybe it was his superhuman senses, but it was like he could hear the frantic pounding of Tooru’s pulse in his own ears. 

“ _Please_ , Tooru, I need you.” It’s honest - though it might be the most generic line in the book, Hajime meant every word, every syllable of his confession. He needed Tooru, and he needed him _now_ before his body burned too bright with unresolved desire. Feeling Tooru’s hands grip his hips firmly, Hajime arched his back. With a slight wiggle of his hips, he ground his exposed ass against Tooru, desperate for some kind of touch - but Tooru was the one to correct their positions, pressing the head of his heavy erection against Hajime’s hole. 

The whine that left Hajime was needy, but there was no shame in it - he trusted Tooru wholeheartedly in that moment, and knew that he wouldn’t be satisfied without the feeling of Tooru’s cock inside him. Hajime was at his most vulnerable, and he was certain that Tooru knew that, from the soft whispers of praise that escaped him as his cock pushed past the tight ring of muscle. Hajime breathed hard, steadying himself, but Tooru was already there with a hand on his stomach to keep him supported, and the murmured promise that everything was alright. 

Hajime gave Tooru permission to continue, and he had never been more pleased with a choice he’d made in his life. It was like Tooru could see inside his thoughts, like he knew exactly what felt good to Hajime, like he could sense _just_ the right angle at which to pound into Hajime to make his head feel light.

The room was silent, save for the sound of Tooru’s hips slapping against Hajime’s skin, and Hajime’s soft mewls whenever Tooru managed to thrust into him in a way that brought constellations to his vision. The whole scene was lewd and desperate, but Hajime found that every other problem in his life didn’t matter anymore - at least not when Tooru was fucking him good enough to remove any thought at all from his mind. 

_“You’re doing so well, sweetheart, come on - I know you feel good, I know you want to come, yeah?”_

Hajime must truly be fucked stupid because it sounded like Tooru’s voice was _inside his head_ \- but that was impossible. Tooru wasn’t gifted like him. He wasn’t coherent enough to care, though, and instead, Hajime nodded. He guided the hand that was braced around his stomach upwards, over his chest and to wrap around his neck. Tooru quickly caught on, guiding their joined bodies into a new position, where Tooru’s chest was pressed to Hajime’s back whilst Hajime bounced on his cock, and Tooru’s hand was free to squeeze the sides of his throat. Hajime almost wished he could see what they looked like, in that moment - the thought of himself looking wrecked beyond belief as he fucked himself on Tooru’s aching length, with Tooru’s possessive, dark gaze meeting his in a mirror - his cock twitched against his stomach at the mere thought of it. Hajime couldn’t complain, though - it brought Tooru’s attention (and free hand) to his erection, and it was like he couldn’t think about anything other than his rapid surge towards orgasm. 

Hajime knew that Tooru could tell he was close, and there was a part of him that was getting off on the filthy praise that Tooru mumbled to him, encouraging him to keep going. He did as he was told, riding Tooru like he had no other purpose in the world than to bring Tooru pleasure. His thighs ached, still sore from the last run-in with the Grand King where he got all cut up on the receiving end of the villain’s blade, but if Tooru noticed the superficial wounds, he said nothing at all. He just encouraged Hajime to carry on, with the promise that he was close too, and he wanted to feel Hajime come undone on his cock.

That was the final straw, and the intensity of his orgasm brought tears to Hajime’s eyes as he continued to fuck himself on Tooru through his orgasm. It was mere seconds before Tooru himself reached the peak of his pleasure, spilling inside Hajime with a low groan that made Hajime weak at the knees. Hajime was covered in his own come, and filled with Tooru’s, but he didn’t feel dirty or ashamed - he just felt tired, and speechless. 

In and out of consciousness, Hajime took a little while to truly be present with Tooru again, but by that time Tooru had cleaned the pair of them up and raided Hajime’s closet to deck the pair of them out in some freshly-laundered pyjamas. His bottoms were just a little too short for Tooru, and it brought a dozy smile to Hajime’s face to see a comical amount of Tooru’s ankle exposed. 

“Feeling okay?” Tooru asked him, carding his fingers through Hajime’s hair. He seemed genuinely concerned for Hajime, and it was rare for anyone to treat Hajime like this. Like he was breakable. 

“I’m good.” Hajime was grateful for having been friends with Tooru for years - he wasn’t much of a talker, and Tooru knew not to push him. Hajime had been pushed to the limit, and they’d both experienced an overwhelming amount of emotion that evening before either of them even considered the fact they’d had sex for the first time. Tooru _did_ insist on making Hajime drink a glass of water, and Hajime was grateful for that when he realised just how sore his throat felt from their encounter.

“Sleep, dollface.” is the only thing Tooru says, and before Hajime can think about who has called him that before, he slips deep into sleep with his head on Tooru’s chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart.

It was late in the night when Iwaizumi woke up, anxiety playing on the frayed edges of his mind and rousing him from his sleep. Oikawa was passed out on his chest with a fond grin, even in dreaming, and the curls of his hair were still sticking to his forehead. Iwaizumi made a mental note to run them a bath the next day. 

Although Iwaizumi was glad Oikawa was sleeping easy, he now struggled with a creeping sense of guilt in the very pit of his stomach that was near impossible to ignore.

Sighing deeply, he tried his best to ignore the sense of underlying dread that bubbled beneath the surface of his thoughts. Iwaizumi’s fingers traced constellations onto Oikawa’s skin with a featherlight touch, connecting each of his freckles as he allowed himself to sink into his thoughts for a few moments. 

Oikawa was here with him and wanted him as Iwaizumi had longed for. 

The pining and the longing and the wondering were over, and now Iwaizumi was free to kiss and tease and _be with_ Oikawa in a way he’d wanted for years. 

Iwaizumi had ignored his feelings as a confused eighteen-year-old when Hanamaki and Matsukawa introduced them formally. But after he’d come to terms with his sexuality, he’d dreamt about Oikawa more times than he could count.

So why did he feel the tiniest sense of disappointment now it was really here? 

He should be on top of the world right now; instead, his mind raced. No matter what, his brain always brought him back to the same point.

The Grand King.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ace and The Grand King meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aha.................... sorry in advance :))

Another day, another crime. Another example of Iwaizumi giving his life to the city and never being rewarded or respected in turn. Another day of letting himself be frustrated for a second before pulling it together, forcing Iwaizumi to get over himself.

This wasn’t about him.

It was Saturday night, and the city was alive with the thrum of activity; there was a charity masquerade ball being held at City Hall by the mayor, and Iwaizumi had received a tip from law enforcement that there was going to be a major incident of some sort. 

He donned the only suit he owned, a smart tuxedo he’d had to wear to his cousin’s wedding. It was complete with silver cufflinks in the shape of crescent moons and a black bowtie, which he definitely did not have to search up a video tutorial to learn how to tie. His hair remained its usual spiky mess, but after throwing on his mask and arming himself with a few hidden knives, Iwaizumi had to admit that he scrubbed up pretty nicely. 

He was lucky enough to reside fairly close to his destination. It was a rare treat to not have to traverse across the city’s skyline, hopping between rooftops like stepping stones at a child’s play area. It was easy when things in his line of work were never anything less than difficult at best. Living downtown had it’s certain perks sometimes.

After a short walk, during which the Ace tried not to stick out in the throngs of nighttime travellers, he arrived at City Hall. Knowing there would be at least some form of check-in through the front entrance, past the crowds of photographers trying to score a picture of the city’s elite, the Ace decided to take a shot at the back of the imposing building. Taking a second to analyse his path inside, thanks to the map and floor plan flashed up by his mask, it took him barely any time to get inside. It was probably a personal record for breaking into government property, as well as a testament to the weak levels of security guarding an event filled with celebrities, politicians and other people of note. 

This was the night’s first glaring mistake.

The Ace took a chance, entering a corridor and playing the part of a guest who got lost looking for the bathroom (complete with asking an oblivious worker the way back to the ball). 

It didn’t take him long to infiltrate the event, with his years of experience and the lack of serious security, but he was on high alert nonetheless. He was asked to attend by the police for a reason - even if they didn’t manage to score him an invitation - and he would take his duty seriously until the last second.

The Ace ended up standing on the grand balcony that wrapped around the edge of the room. Acres of white marble filled the space, from the floor to the grand staircase at the far end, to the huge Grecian pillars that punctuated the interior. One of the many faceless waiters patrolling the vast ballroom offered him a flute of champagne. The Ace sipped at it as he stood, scanning the masses of people from his vantage point. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary yet - it was the usual crowd of rich people flaunting their wealth and attempting to make themselves feel better by donating to charity auctions (because they couldn’t possibly donate the money without anything in return, no). 

Despite not seeing anything out of the ordinary, something didn’t sit right in his stomach. Uneasiness crept into the very core of him, and the Ace was certain of one thing. 

The Grand King would be here. He probably was already.

There was no clear sign of his adversary yet, and honestly, the Ace was happy about it; he would gladly take any amount of extra time given to him, even if it were just to prepare himself for seeing the Grand King without falling into his arms.

The Ace had a boyfriend now. Or - he had a Tooru, at least, whatever the two of them were. Despite sneaking in makeout sessions and spending time together whenever Hanamaki and Matsukawa weren’t home, they still had yet to define exactly what was lingering between them. 

Iwaizumi couldn’t allow himself to get tangled up lips-first with his adversary, as much as he craved it. There most definitely was something wrong with him, seeing as he couldn’t go longer than two seconds without thinking about kissing his supposed enemy.

Letting out a deep sigh, he shook the calamitous thoughts to the outer recesses of his mind where he could simply pretend his problems didn’t exist.

Cradling the champagne flute, he tried his best to fit in with the throngs as he crossed the room in an attempt to find any sight of a threat. Again, there was nothing; it bothered him. 

Everything was going a bit too smoothly.

In hindsight, the Ace should have known that the Grand King always had the upper hand, and should have planned accordingly. It was as if the Grand King knew his movements before he’d even decided them himself, and it scared him to think that there was either someone with such a gifted ability or that someone knew him that well despite his anonymity. Maybe it was a mix of both - the prospect filled his core with dread. 

It was when the Ace felt a slender hand slip into his grasp, fingers interlocking, that he knew he’d fallen right into the trap. The press of soft lips against his cheek in a fleeting kiss and a whispered “hello, darling- did you miss me?” was enough for the Ace’s jaw to clench.

Turning to face the Grand King, he grew even more frustrated. Not only was his opponent right - the Ace _did_ miss him - but he also was wearing what appeared to be the most well-tailored suit in existence. The silky dress shirt, a deep sea-green, contrasted with the Grand King’s pale skin. Thanks to the fair few buttons left unclasped, the Ace could see the sturdy muscles of his chest. The trousers exposed the length of the Grand King’s legs, and the Ace forced himself to drag his eyes away from his muscular thighs, staring pointedly into the crowd of people around them. 

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I really don’t think you mind all that much, do you? I mean - you got all dressed up for our date, Ace. Didn’t realise you had such classic taste in suits, though. Looks like you’re going to a movie premiere or something. It’s cute.” 

The teasing was back, and it grated on the Ace’s last nerve. He ignored the part of him that knew that the Grand King, despite his cockiness, was at least partly right. The Ace couldn’t deal with his conflicting, confusing clusterfuck of feelings right now.

“I’ve got a job to do. Nothing more.”

“I’m sure you do. Seeing me is just the cherry on top, hm? Come on, Ace. You can’t say that you don’t feel it too.” 

“Feel _what_?” The Ace hissed, ripping his hand out of the Grand King’s firm grasp. He almost immediately noticed the absence of the warmth, and it pissed him off even further. “I don’t feel anything but irritation, and I’ve had enough of you. Stop playing with me- I’d rather you kick my ass than keep messing with my head like this.”

“I’m not messing with your head, Ace.” The Grand King was serious, for once not the epitome of smarm and smugness. “I’m - jeez, I’m _flirting_ with you. Are you that dense?”

“You can’t just _flirt_ with me, you’re a criminal.”

“Let’s just not mix business with pleasure.” The Grand King offered a small smile his way and the Ace recognised it for what it was - an attempt to break the irritated tension that the Ace was directing towards him. 

“How about you stop being a criminal, stop kissing me out of the blue, and get out of my head?”

“Oh, _darling_. If only you knew what was going on.” The Grand King’s smile was sad this time as if he was privy to information he knew would crush the Ace. 

_‘Knowing him, he probably is,’_ thought the Ace, draining the last of his champagne in an attempt to focus on something else for a split second of peace. “Why don’t you let me in on your secrets then, hm?”

“It’s not my secrets you should be worried about, you know. I’m not the only one keeping things from you, Ace.”

“What?”

“Look, I don’t have time for this, okay? I’m sorry. You’ll find out soon.” The Grand King looked solemn, and the Ace felt disgusted that he wanted to comfort his opponent. He was certain that he’d lost his mind, and that this was all some kind of elaborate delusion playing out inside his head - he couldn’t possibly be this unhinged.

The Ace’s skin crawled with how much he wanted to close the distance between them, to take the other into his arms and tell him it would all be okay. Instead, he settled for letting out a deep sigh of frustration, dropping his empty champagne flute off with a passing waiter and shifting his weight in place. If the Grand King wanted to cause trouble in front of all these people, disrupting the event, then the Ace would be more than happy to put him back in his place. 

Belatedly, he realised that he’d never checked his adversary for concealed weapons, and it was as the Grand King reached behind himself to pull a firearm from its hidden home in the back of his suit trousers that the Ace realised that something _very_ bad was about to happen.

There was a scuffle as people around them saw the weapon, causing them to try and flee from the immediate danger. The screams of those closest ricocheted off the high marble ceilings, cutting over the sounds of people chatting and the music stemming from the stage area. It was harrowing, the pure fear that emanated from these innocent people, but it didn’t stop the Grand King at all. 

The Ace wanted to say to these people that they were safe, that the Grand King would never hurt them, but that was something the Ace himself wasn’t even sure about. Instead, he put himself in the Grand King’s path, standing with his chest pressed against the barrel of the gun, unflinching.

“What are you _doing_?” hissed the Grand King, his eyes aflame - the Ace assumed it was either due to his recklessness, in which case he was in a much more confusing and convoluted situation than he thought, or he was bothered about the Ace interfering yet again with his plans. “Ace, get out of the way. I don’t want to - I don’t want you to get hurt, okay?”

“I can’t let you hurt innocent people. You- you don’t seem like a bad person, alright? Just put the gun down, we can work this out, yeah?” The Ace ignored his police-mandated training for negotiating; he knew that the Grand King wouldn’t be easily manipulated. Speaking from the heart, though? That might work.

“Thing is, sweetie, I’m not about to hurt _innocent_ people. I’m about to kill someone who is a danger to society and has caused more harm and corruption than you’ll _ever_ understand, hm?” The Grand King was angry now, his grasp on the firearm so tight that his forearm was starting to shake. “You don’t know _shit_ , Iwa-chan, and it’s really starting to -”

The Ace froze. 

“What did you just call me?”

“Nothing. Fuck -” The Grand King swore, taking advantage of the Ace’s momentary shock and making a break towards his target. He moved fast, and it didn’t help that the Ace - Iwaizumi - whoever he was supposed to be - was pinned in place.

_It couldn’t be, could it?_

_But it surely was…_

**Tooru.**

There was no time for a personal crisis. The Ace jumped headfirst into the situation. The Grand King - Tooru - had ascended the grand marble staircase on the opposite end of the room. The few seconds that the Ace had been immobilised cost him dearly; his adversary had longer legs than him, plus a head start.

People were shrieking in surprise, clearing a path for the Grand King as he sprinted. The guests stampeded like petrified cattle in their attempt to flee, terror having destroyed any semblance of normality.

Fleetingly, the Ace wondered how on earth the fabric of the Grand King’s suit wasn’t splitting with the rigorous strain with each of his long strides but thought that it was probably _not_ the ideal time to be thinking about the muscles of his boyf- Tooru - the _Grand King_ ’s thighs. 

Instead, the Ace scaled one of the marble pillars that supported the upper level of the room, praying that the faux ancient Greek architecture wouldn’t fall apart under him as he climbed. He needed to get to Tooru, needed to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. 

The Ace was hot in pursuit, breathing hard but steady as his legs carried him forward. He hadn’t realised how desperate he was to stop this madness until he felt his muscles scream with exertion. Pushing through the pain, he gave chase and refused to let Tooru out of his sight as he ran. 

Then the Grand King’s desperate dash came to an end. Standing in front of the mayor, the Grand King’s hand was steady- the Ace could see that even from a distance away as he desperately ran to catch up. 

The Ace was hopeless; even as he closed the distance between them, he knew that he was going to be too late. The Grand King’s finger was pulling back the trigger, and screams were echoing around the ballroom as terrified guests stampeded their way out of the exits. 

“Stop!” the Ace screamed. It was pained as if he was the one about to be murdered. He was begging for the Grand King to not carry out this insane plan because he wasn’t sure what he would do if the other actually went through with this scheme. He wasn’t sure if he could deal with the consequences.

Seeing _his_ Tooru tense and hesitate for just a second was all Iwaizumi needed; he tackled the so-called Grand King to the ground. Through his peripheral vision, the Ace saw the mayor scramble to his feet. He was clearly shaken, and the Ace had a sneaking suspicion from the wet patch growing on the front of the mayor’s trousers, he’d been just as terrified as everyone else, except frozen in place. 

The Grand King didn’t give up, which the Ace shouldn’t have been surprised about. Knowing Tooru’s tenacity, his will - there was nothing that could stop him when he had his mind set on a goal. The Grand King shoved Iwaizumi with all his mustered might, the weapon still firm in his grasp. Propping himself up, he scrambled to aim the firearm at his target and pulled the trigger without hesitation this time. The bullet zipped through the air and with a sickening, wet noise, chased by an animalistic howl of pain, the Ace knew it had found its mark. 

The Grand King’s face was solemn for a second as he locked eyes with the Ace for a fraction of a second. There was a genuine sadness that was quickly replaced with a determined facade. He was up on his feet in no time, taking the gun with him as he turned to run, to make his escape. The Ace’s heart broke to watch him leave.

His dilemma:

Chase the Grand King and apprehend him, therefore neatly handing over his own boyfriend for a life of imprisonment thanks to his new hobby of mild domestic terrorism? 

Or focus his attention on keeping the mayor alive enough for the paramedics to deal with when they eventually got through the mounds of hysterical guests outside?

The Ace was pure of heart, a good man, a reliable force for good. He was also a tiny bit selfish, telling himself he had to investigate the Grand King and understand his motives for this seemingly bizarre attack on one of the most unremarkable mayors the city had ever had. 

Nearly tripping over himself in an attempt to make it over to the mayor’s crumpled form, the Ace ripped open the mayor’s crimson-stained shirt, exposing the wound so he could examine the gravity of the situation.

It didn’t look good, considering the steady flow of blood streaming from the nasty, spliced flesh and the lack of blood clotting. It was deep, and the Ace had no way of telling whether there was damage to his internal organs. If he had to take a guess, the Ace would assume the worst.

Using the torn scraps of the mayor’s shirt, the Ace applied strong pressure to the wound in an attempt to stem the flow of the bleeding. He tried his hardest to block out the mayor’s cry of pain, ignoring the look of agony on the politician’s face. 

“Sir, I need you to hold on for just a little longer, okay? You’re gonna be okay, sir.” The Ace spoke firmly, refusing to admit defeat as the man’s form grew visibly weaker on the floor. The sirens outside grew louder, which was somewhat of a relief, but there was the very real truth that the mayor’s condition was worsening with each passing second without proper medical care and attention.

The weak groans of the man below him were haunting, but he refused to give up until the paramedics pulled him away and he was forced to retreat to allow for the mayor’s transportation. He hoped to make a quiet escape from the horrors of the evening, but he was soon met by a stone-faced Sawamura, who simply sighed deeply at the sight of the Ace’s bloodstained figure. The Ace knew he wasn’t going to make it home tonight.

_‘Jeez, Tooru- what the_ fuck _have you done?’_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi has a lot to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good afternoon im literally in my class rn LOL also. thank you everyone for all your comments, and feel free to come talk to me on twitter about it if you want!!!!

_“What was your reasoning for letting the assailant escape?”_

_“Why did you fail to apprehend the perpetrator?”_

_“Did you, in any way, intend to aid the criminal by repeatedly failing to stop their illegal actions?”_

The questions were all variations on a theme, but the Ace knew what the police really wanted to know. 

_**“Are you working with the Grand King, thus aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive?”** _

Truthfully, he wanted nothing less than to be crammed into a tiny, badly lit interrogation room at two o’clock in the morning, being poked and prodded at by Sawamura Daichi, but somehow the universe had decided that, today, this was exactly what he needed to endure. As if he hadn’t been through enough.

“Come on, Ace. There must be something- none of it is adding up. You’re the city’s best defence and not only has this guy evaded your capture on multiple occasions, but he’s also beat the shit out of you and managed to possibly kill the mayor _while you were in the same room_. You were seen talking to him minutes before the attack. There are even rumours that he kissed you on the cheek? I’m not sure if I believe that one, but if it gets out… there could be some huge problems for all of us. Think about that.” Sawamura leaned back in his seat, loosening his tie and allowing a deep sigh of frustration to pass through his lips. “Come on, Ace. Throw me a bone. What am I missing? Because you’re looking guilty as hell right now.”

“You’re not missing anything, Sawamura. Can I go yet?” Running a hand over his face, the Ace scratched at his jaw. He could feel the beginnings of stubble, rough against his hands, and it finally began to sink in how awfully the night had gone. 

It wasn’t as if Iwaizumi could confess, even if he wanted to. The second the cops found out that he not only had a personal connection with the Grand King but that they were romantically involved, he’d be signing his life away. There’d be no chance of tracking down Oikawa and finding out what his twisted motivations were.

A brief thought crossed his mind: was this all just part of Oikawa’s plan? The flirting, the kissing, the vulnerability… Iwaizumi knew that both with and without the mask, he was putty in Oikawa Tooru’s capable hands. 

“Come on, Ace. If you just - if you tell me what’s going on, I can do my best to get you off lightly. I can - there are people who can make this _go away._ Help you out, just a little.” Sawamura’s voice was low, with his eyes tired and encircled by years of dark, purplish weariness. It was odd, all of it - Iwaizumi was more aware than ever that this informal interview about a national security risk wasn’t being recorded.

Sawamura was visibly growing more and more frustrated with the lack of information, but the fact of the matter was that they both knew he couldn’t keep the Ace held in the precinct any longer without evidence of a crime. The Ace was still the Ace, and some part of Sawamura must have acknowledged that he wasn’t the worst person to let back out onto the streets. Not really. 

“Stay out of trouble, Ace. We’ll have a close eye on you, but I think you should get some rest. You look like shit.”

“I feel like it, so it makes sense.” the Ace shrugged, a tired sigh escaping him softly. “I’ll be off. And- for what it’s worth, I really wasn’t working with him. I want to know what the hell is going on, just as bad as you.” 

‘ _If not more._ ’ was left unsaid, but the Ace heard it loud and clear in his head. He had to figure out what was going on, and if the police were going to run around in circles trying to pin it on him, that was on them. He couldn’t find it in him to care, not anymore.

Iwaizumi was grateful that he was provided with a change of clothes upon leaving interrogation. Sawamura’s unused gym gear was a better solution than a prison jumpsuit, at least, though he doubted they kept any of the iconic orange all-in-ones at the precinct. 

The Ace considered something new for a moment; though he worked with the police nearly every day, he wasn’t privy to their privileges, or even basic knowledge about what it was like to work there. The information, the databases, the support - hell, even the _camaraderie_. Iwaizumi couldn’t access any of it. It was just out of reach, but he felt like it was dangled just within sight, like a carrot on a stick. He was the workhorse, always working for the greater good, but the greater good seemed to get further and further away from him with each step towards the light. The Ace would always be the one at the forefront of the incident, diving headfirst without the guarantee of a safe landing, whereas his allies on the force had the system to save them when things got sticky. 

The Ace would never understand how the city protected some of the dirtiest cops, getting them off relatively scot-free, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. The thought alone was distressing enough, and it made his mind flash back to his (brief) attendance of the protest - should he feel guilty for having been there?

Though he always tried to do what was right, he wasn’t protected or supported by the law. He couldn’t do what he did if he was an officer, but the knowledge that he was never really one of _them_ always hung over him. 

He thought back to what the Grand King had said that night in the DA’s office. At the time, he thought it was just waffle to try and distract him, but what if there was truth to it? What if he was just a lapdog, and there was something seedy and nefarious growing within the force?

\---

_“- we regrettably interrupt this segment, to bring you word that tonight there has been a grave attack on one of the city’s finest. The mayor was the victim of an assassination attempt this evening at the annual Masquerade Ball fundraiser at City Hall, and he is currently being treated for his injuries at the city’s Medical Centre. The attacker is a wanted fugitive, and some eyewitness reports suggest that they could be one of the Grand King’s subordinates, or even the crime lord himself. Unfortunately, that’s all the information we’ve managed to obtain this evening, but we will be updating you on the mayor’s condition throughout the evening. Sakusa Kiyoomi, reporting live from City Hall, for the Nightly News.”_

The words rang out into the darkness of Iwaizumi’s apartment, the audio from the television seeming tinnier than normal as he pulled his comforter tighter around him on the couch. He was a sorry sight, dealing with the night’s events in the only way he could think of. He remained quiet, absorbing every ounce of the news and letting his mind race with the ‘what if’s of the night.

_‘What if I didn’t let him go?’_

_‘What if I subdued him?’_

_‘What if I figured it out earlier?’_

He felt stupid if he was being honest. There were no two ways about it. He had failed to recognise that his opponent, who had _kissed him on multiple occasions_ was the man he secretly harboured feelings for, the man he was always hanging out with when his roommate wanted the apartment to himself, the man he turned to for medical care. How he hadn’t realised or even _seen_ it, was humiliating, to say the least. 

It ricocheted in his chest every time he thought about Tooru or his secret identity; a deep ache that exploded and threatened to bring him to tears as if he was a child waking from some nightmare. Oh, if he should be so lucky for this to be a bad dream.

The more he thought about it, the less the Ace understood the night’s events.

The security of the masked ball had been far too lax for such a high profile event. Not only had the Ace been able to enter without a second look, but so had the perpetrator of an attack that shook the whole city. That was the fact of the matter. 

They had been able to get in, and the Grand King had been able to smuggle in a firearm capable of tearing a hole in the mayor’s abdomen. The wound was nasty, to say the least, and Iwaizumi wasn’t certain if he’d done enough to save the man’s life. As ironic as it was, the only person at the scene who had the knowledge that could have saved the mayor was the very man who shot him. 

Oikawa would have known what to do.

Yet he was the one who caused this entire harrowing incident. It didn’t make any sense at all to Iwaizumi; the Oikawa Tooru he knew devoted himself to saving lives, to helping people. Why would he suddenly turn to crime? Why would he try to kill someone?

It didn’t sit right with him. 

At all. 

Call him crazy, but Iwaizumi refused to believe that he had been completely fooled by Oikawa. Whether or not what they had was real or a ploy to distract him so that the Grand King could succeed in his plans, Iwaizumi _knew_ Oikawa. He’d seen him at his most bare, in the rawest of moments, and he refused to believe that Oikawa was that good of a liar. 

Maybe it was the part of him that was in love, but he still held out hope that there was some reason behind all of this chaos. Maybe it was the same part of him that wanted it to have been real, despite the signs pointing the opposite way.

Knowing he wouldn’t sleep that night, he left his mound of blankets to fetch his laptop. When he returned to his spot on the couch, Iwaizumi propped the device over his thighs, cracking his knuckles. The laptop booted up, and he steeled himself for a night of trawling the internet forums for any sign of Oikawa or what his motivations might be. There had to be something, some sort of sign. He begged whatever was out there in the universe to give him some kind of a scrap of information, but his luck had run out. 

Iwaizumi was drawn out of his frantic research by the sound of yet another emergency bulletin. The raven-haired reporter from earlier was no longer outside City Hall but had set up camp outside the Medical Centre. Oikawa’s workplace. Iwaizumi’s stomach was churning, dread taking hold of him as he realised that there was no way this was going to be good news. He was right.

_“-and we’re going to cut to Sakusa Kiyoomi, reporting live from the Medical Centre. Sakusa?”_

_“Thanks, Meian. I stand outside the city’s Medical Centre, a source of some of the best medical care in the entire country, with a very heavy heart. We have received confirmation that the city’s mayor has passed away due to complications during surgery. This takes tonight’s vicious attack from attempted murder, to a full-blown assassination. The public is being advised to stay alert, but not alarmed, and to keep the mayor’s family- especially his young son and his wife- in their thoughts and prayers. This has been Sakusa Kiyoomi, reporting live from the Medical Centre, for the Nightly News.”_

The final nail in the coffin had been hammered down in a single blow. 

There was no denying that Oikawa had irrevocably changed his own life. Not only was he now a bona fide murderer, but he was also a fugitive on the run. There was no way he could return to normal life, and Iwaizumi laughed in disbelief at his own thought process when he couldn’t hold back from wondering how Matsukawa was going to cover rent. 

It was the small things that were making Iwaizumi more and more upset; he didn’t know where Oikawa was, and Oikawa was the only person he wanted to see. He longed to hear Oikawa tease him, laugh at him, call him that stupid nickname. He wanted nothing more than to hold Oikawa in his arms, breathing in his familiar smell to calm his frayed nerves. The one person that could undoubtedly resolve all of Iwaizumi’s anxieties was not only missing but also the one who had gotten them all into this mess in the first place.

Disturbed from his overwhelming longing, the doorbell rang out into the silence of the apartment- it was just past six in the morning, which sent Iwaizumi’s instincts into overdrive.

He didn’t let himself hope it was Oikawa. He knew it would be too good to be true. It wasn’t safe for him to show up here.

He approached his front door with the kind of stealth that only comes from years of covert operations, sneaking a glance through his peephole with bated breath. He barely shifted his weight in fear of giving away his position- which, if he thought about it, was kind of stupid because it could be Hanamaki coming home for a change of clothes and having forgotten his front door key.

Through the tiny peephole, Iwaizumi was greeted with the presence of absolutely no one. It struck him as odd, but he decided to open the door (with the chain still firmly on) to give the corridor a quick scan. One could never be too careful.

Iwaizumi was glad to have trusted his instincts because outside his front door was a stack of thick manila envelopes, filled with papers. 

Oikawa might not be here, but Iwaizumi was certain that this was from him. It had to be.

Iwaizumi retrieved the thick stacks of information, checking over the package for any signs of a trap. He didn’t know who to trust anymore, and he’d be damned if he would cause an incident in the sanctity of his own home out of carelessness. 

With careful hands, he peeled back the lip of the envelope. If this was from Oikawa, he’d like to believe that there was no threat, but if anything, the previous evening had proven to Iwaizumi just how little he could be sure of. The tension was thick as he worked by the dim lamplight at his desk, his chest tight with anxiety as he checked each of the stuffed envelopes for any dangers. 

He was reassured by the lack of traps hidden within Oikawa’s gift, and he was a little disappointed in himself for thinking Oikawa would hurt him. Every time they’d come to blows, he was the one who had always jumped into the violence headfirst, which he’d gotten used to doing with the police force in his ear. 

Oikawa had never once struck him first. 

Iwaizumi rubbed at his face, exhausted from the lack of sleep now that it was mid-morning, having been sent packing in the early hours right after his interrogation. But he had no shot at being able to sleep, and the stack of papers still rested in front of him. How was he supposed to think about anything else?

Iwaizumi was methodical. He tackled the envelope that had been at the top of the pile- knowing Oikawa, this gift was meticulously organised. He gripped his mechanical pencil, usually reserved for drawing up new plans, and began to take notes. There was too much to remember, even for him, and he wanted to see the big picture that Oikawa was trying to paint for him.

The papers were a miscellany of information: newspaper cuttings announcing crime rates, the mayor’s successful election, the decline in the arrest rate, a rise in police brutality, even a cutting that alleged a certain high-flying businessman had links to an underground drug trafficking ring. Stacks upon stacks of information, and it made Iwaizumi’s head spin. He was enthralled, unable to stop reading- he had to know what Oikawa knew. 

There was more about the laboratory where the samples had been stolen from; though it was merely a few weeks ago, it felt like a lifetime had passed since then. 

It was exhausting to think about. 

He kept pushing on, reading and reading past the point of tiredness. His eyelids were heavy, but the weight of his burdens was heavier; he couldn’t rest when he didn’t understand.

Each note Iwaizumi scrawled, each connection he made, he felt closer to Oikawa than before. It was oddly intimate; Iwaizumi was privy to this information that seemed to live only within the confines of Oikawa’s head, as no one else had bothered to make these shocking connections. 

It all kept coming back to the mayor, in the end. 

The rise in crime? Began a month after he was first elected to the office. 

The decrease in arrest rates? Similar timing. Also, certainly because of budget cuts for the police force and for the prison system- the internal memo that joked it was cheaper to pay for a funeral than to house a criminal in the city’s prison for a year was particularly disgusting. 

The increase in the sale of illegal substances? Oikawa had collected proof that the mayor had links to the figure at the head of the organisation. 

Iwaizumi felt sick as he absorbed page after page of incriminating evidence. The fact that it had all been out there, in the open, was almost as bad as the deceit. Anyone could have noticed, but everyone either turned a blind eye or didn’t know to look. 

Maybe Oikawa was right.

It messed with his head- his moral compass couldn’t find north. Iwaizumi never advocated senseless violence, and he abhorred hurting innocents, but this man wasn’t innocent at all. In fact, this man had profited from hurting others, from oppressing others. 

Why should he be afforded mercy when he’d made his living actively hurting the citizens of the city he’d sworn to serve? 

Iwaizumi had reached his peak. The disgust that had grown in his stomach mixed with his frustration at his situation with the police; it wasn’t _fair_. 

He needed to talk to Oikawa. He needed to clear his head. He needed to sleep.


End file.
